The Gold Puppet
by Silver Puppet Masters
Summary: When you don't know what you did. When you don't know who you are. When you don't know what's inside of you, terrible things can happen. By Serpent In Red and Nerys. TMR/LV-HJG.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **We're both very, very disappointed we don't own anything (money, money, money) in the Potterverse, but it all belongs to J.K. Rowling, as you should know by now if you haven't lived under a rock in the last two decades. Yes, both the money and the characters are hers. We have nothing and get nothing from writing this. Woe us.

**Title:** The Gold Puppet

**By: **Serpent In Red and Nerys

**Pairing: **Tom Riddle/Lord Voldemort - Hermione Granger, so yes, if you're not a fan of them, please hit the back button and save all of us from the drama and time.

**Rating: **M for a reason. If you don't want or are not allowed to read explicit lemons, skip this story. You have been warned.

**Warnings: **If you prefer a fluffy, kind Tom, move along. He's evil. **YES**, evil. He will not, I repeat, he will **NOT**: cry, mope, do the lovey-dovey stuff.  
Second, this story is not for Ron Lovers: Severe Ron Bashing Alert. ;-)  
Third, if this all hasn't scared you away yet, welcome and we hope you'll enjoy the fic.

**Spoilers: **All the Harry Potter books (we start with the ending of the series, so you were warned), EWE.

**Beta: **Not needed, we are perfect. (sniggers). Okay, the truth; we are lazy and writing this for our amusement. If you see errors, feel free to point them out and we might fix them (if we're not too busy lounging on our arses). But we mainly hope you'll enjoy the story, despite our imperfections, grammar and spelling-wise. So let us know, _pretty please_.

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**The Gold Puppet**

**Chapter One**

Fighting for her life, Hermione swung another curse in the direction of Bellatrix Lestrange. She didn't have time to check if it hit the witch, because a known dash of green sped towards Luna who stood beside her. Hermione dove and pushed Luna to the floor of the Great Hall, just in a nick of time. She felt her hair rise, as the Killing Curse soared over their bodies. In the distance, Hermione saw all those people, grown witches and wizards standing by, watching, while three youngsters fought Lord Voldemort's most dangerous ally. It annoyed her, but she had no time to consider it further. She flicked her wand to support Ginny's hex and scrambled to her feet, pulling Luna with her. For a brief moment, Hermione watched McGonagall, Slughorn, and Shacklebolt barely being able to hold their ground against Lord Voldemort.

Why was no one assisting them?

Only Bellatrix and him were left. If everyone would just pitch in, it would be over in a heartbeat. But _nooooo_, they had to be chickens and watch.

A pain-filled cry left her mouth when one of Bellatrix's curses slashed her arm open, causing her blood to splatter around in an arc.

"Your blood just joined all the rest of mud. Where it needs to be, on the ground at my feet," Bella sneered.

Furious, Ginny hurtled another Bat-Bogey Hex at the dark witch, while Luna helped Hermione heal her arm quickly and they continued to fight. But still, Hermione kept some of her attention on the other duel from the corner of her eye. For some inexplicable reason, her eyes kept drawing to Voldemort's fight. Surely, one slashed arm should be enough to remind her to keep her eyes on her adversary. But she couldn't help herself.

His dark cloak whirled around his thin frame as if it followed the tremendous power of his magic. She'd never seen him cast in a duel before. The elegance in which he moved and the ease in which he undid anything sent his way by his three opponents was mesmerising. It should be obvious to anyone that McGonagall, Slughorn and Shacklebolt were far out of their league. This was why she kept looking at him. Hermione searched for any opportunity when she might need to help them, or so she told herself.

However, that was merely a hopeful thought—she pretty much had her hands full, even with Ginny and Luna helping her duel Bellatrix.

She dropped to the ground, avoiding another one of the crazy witch's hexes, when she noticed a dark shape leave Voldemort, heading towards the crowd. Alarmed, she wanted to see if anyone was hurt by whatever it was, but before she had a chance to see where it had gone, Ginny's shouts alerted her.

"Hermione!"

Hermione dodged the curse and returned the favour with a vengeance. But Bella was evenly matched to the three of them. The bushy-haired witch gritted her teeth, realising it would be hopeless trying to find where that dark shape had gone now, and it was all Bellatrix Lestrange's fault. With a low growl, she threw a couple of her nastier hexes towards the Death Eater, but they were all easily deflected, while the older witch cackled madly, a small distance away from them.

"Ginny, look out!" Hermione yelled, as she saw the jet of green hurtle towards the redhead.

"Not my daughter, you bitch!"

Hermione froze on the spot, baffled. From the corner of her eye, Molly Weasley ran toward them, throwing off her cloak to free her arms.

"Out of my way," Molly barked to the three of them, swiping her wand at Bella.

The determination and fury on the Weasley matriarch's face was enough to make Hermione step back. The duel between the two witches was on and it was a sight to witness. Hermione wasn't at all surprised to see the skill Molly Weasley exhibited. Bella should learn to never touch the children of a mother hen, especially the one daughter that hen had been working so hard for to get. It was a repeat of Sirius's death, the way Bella went down, arrogance most definitely the downfall of the Black family.

And finally, the archenemies were left to face one another. As much as Hermione wanted to pay attention to their battle, her eyes flickered toward the crowd, attempting to find out if anyone had been hurt by whatever left Voldemort's body - anything that came from _**him**_ could not be good news. And it might come back to attack Harry.

However, when she heard Harry offering Voldemort a chance to save himself, to show remorse, she almost felt like attacking Harry herself. That piece of shit did not deserve any more chances as far as she was concerned. But she zoned out of the conversation before she would explode and went back to searching for that strange dark shape. Yet, as hard as she tried, she could not find anything abnormal about the crowd.

Until her eyes landed on a young man, leaning against the frame of the entrance.

An aura of authority and power surrounded him and it surprised her that he stood there all solitary, without any friends. Everyone else huddled together, watching Harry and Lord Voldemort fight, but he had a sense of self-assurance around him that was bordering on arrogance, like he had no need for others. She furrowed her eyebrows, attempting to recall if she had seen him before. Her mind remained infuriatingly blank.

She squinted her eyes, taking in whatever details she could see that might help trigger a memory. His left hand fingers absentmindedly caressed the wand in his right hand, almost as if he was ready to strike when the moment called for it. A shiver ran down her spine at that thought. His handsome features could not hide the fact that he was a dangerous opponent.

An opponent, why did her mind choose that word?

She stared at him to the best of her abilities, willing him to notice her, to do something that might trigger her memory, to give her a reaction beside that abnormal emotionless expression he wore now, but he—like everyone else—was otherwise engaged and took no notice of her.

The red-gold glow burst broke Hermione's concentration, and she quickly looked towards her best friend and his nemesis.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Hermione felt her heart nearly stop, fearing for the outcome and her Harry, as the two spells collide dead in the centre of where they were standing. A hum filled her ears and mind, blurring her senses as the fact that Harry had beaten Lord Voldemort registered completely in her mind. With a scream of glee, she rushed towards the Boy Who Lived Again and threw her arms around him.

Moments later, she was forced to let go by the crowd of people who were struggling to hug or even just touch some part of Harry. She exchanged a look with Ron and moved out of the way, allowing the people a chance to finally have something to rejoice about—it was finally over.

"Wow," Ron breathed out, extending his arms above his head and stretching, after they finally made their way through the crowd.

A small smile appeared on her face, and she was just about to say something when a wave of nauseousness and dizziness washed over her, causing her to sway back and forth. Ron immediately placed a hand on her shoulder, an alarmed expression appearing on his face.

"What's the matter?"

She shook her head, managing to push away the dizziness. She smiled at him. "I'm OK. It's probably from the lack of sleep."

Hermione had been feeling unwell ever since the incident with Helga Hufflepuff's cup, but she'd had no time to dwell on it with all the fighting they still had to do. Now that it was over, it was probably coming back to her. All she needed was some rest, and now that He was dead, she could take all the rest in the world, finally. With a broad smile on her face, she remembered her small contribution in the destruction of Lord Voldemort.

Ron had offered her the Basilisk fang, as if she would have allowed him to do it in the first place.

No, Hermione had waited long enough to get her revenge on the bleeding bigot of Slytherin. She wasn't going to pass on such a wonderful opportunity. To kill a part of Lord Voldemort was something she'd been dying to do, for a very, very long time now. She'd taken the base of the fang firmly in her hand and nobody would have been able to pry her fingers away from it, as she brought her hand beside her head to strike as hard as she could at the priceless golden cup on the floor in front of her.

_I hope you rot in hell, you hypocritical half-blood bastard, _she wished, narrowing her eyes in hate, as her arm went down.

It was sweet music to her ears indeed to hear him scream when she plunged the fang into the cup without any delays.

Of course, getting tossed through the Chamber and hitting her head on a snake statue by the subsequent explosion of said cup wasn't as delightful, but still, it was a small price to pay. She'd been hurt worse in the past.

"Lighten up, Ron," she said to the worried blue eyes that stared at her. "We won."

"You don't look too great."

Hermione's eyes travelled up and down her boyfriend's physique, which was just as battle-worn as hers. "Wow, you're one to talk," she joked, smiling brightly.

Ron smiled back and pulled her in his arms. "Hope I am not too revolting to kiss?"

Her eyes sparkled as they closed the distance. With a sigh, she relaxed in Ron's arms and enjoyed the precious moment. A jubilant feeling filled her heart as she thought about the events that happened today again. Lord Voldemort was dead.

_Finally. Serves him right_, she thought viciously, grinning against Ron's lips.

Perhaps Ron thought that she was reacting to his ministrations, and therefore, deepened the kiss. However, Hermione hardly cared. She was still very elated from the destruction of the cup Horcrux—and it was about time Ron took the initiative.

A few seconds later, she opened her eyes slightly, ready to break off the kiss when she caught sight of the young man from earlier.

"What's with that man?" asked Hermione, looking at the door-frame where the strange fellow still stood, like he hadn't moved an inch since everything happened.

The only difference between now and then was his expression. The intentness, which he had worn while he watched the duel, was replaced by a calculating look, almost like he was trying to decide on what to do with the crowd that was celebrating and cheering in front of him. Although that was all she could read from his face, an ice-cold feeling started to spread throughout her stomach. She had no idea why the stranger made her feel uneasy, but he just did.

"Who?" Ron countered, searching for someone in the direction Hermione was watching.

"That dark-haired fellow over there," Hermione said, pointing to him.

She was positive that he wasn't a Hogwarts student, or at least, he didn't go while she was there. Was he a Death Eater? No, she had seen most of the Death Eaters, and they were either already captured or dead. Additionally, she doubted that one of those idiotic followers would stand there and watch calmly when their master was just killed, instead of running for safety as those cowards always had done before.

Ron frowned in the direction she pointed at, before he looked back at her, confused. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"In the doorway, Ron," Hermione emphasised, annoyed, nodding her head back to the bloke.

"There is no one there, Hermione."

Hermione's jaw dropped. Surely, he wasn't blind. "He's leaning against the door-frame," she repeated, waving her hand in the aforementioned direction agitated.

Ron raised his eyebrows. "I don't see anyone there, beside Malfoy cowering in the corner a few feet from the doorway, but he didn't get a hairdo since last time we 'spoke'," he chuckled.

Hermione didn't respond to Ron's jest since the dark-haired bloke in question finally moved. Hermione froze when she spotted the mocking expression he sent her way. Those dark eyes were now trained on her with an intensity that caused her to stop breathing. Slowly, he pushed his shoulder away from the frame and straightened out. A smirk grew on his features (worse than any she'd ever seen from Draco Malfoy) and then, he tipped his imaginary hat and disappeared in a blink of an eye.

She stared at the empty spot, blinking a couple of times. Ron was telling her something, but it was not sinking into her mind. She was busy trying to digest that something that was _impossible_ had just occurred in front of her eyes.

"Where did he go? You can't Apparate inside of Hogwarts," Hermione blurted out, irritated with it all.

"Who?"

"He's gone now," she replied, waving to the doorway. "It's impossible to just ... _disappear_ from there."

"Perhaps you hit your head harder than we thought in the Chamber of Secrets. Let's go see Madam Pomfrey," Ron suggested.

Frustration crinkled her forehead into a frown. She wasn't the only one who'd been tossed through the chamber and it irked her that Ron had the nerve to consider her feebler than him. She wasn't the one who deserted them after all, and she was certain that she was not having hallucinations. Disregarding what Ron was saying, Hermione strode over to the entrance, attempting to find any signs that suggest that _what_ she had just seen was not a figment of her imagination.

She ran her hand over the frame, mildly aware of the fact that Ron was now rolling his eyes in the distance with his arms folded across his chest.

Was there some kind of trap door that wasn't known? The Marauder's Map never revealed it before, but that could simply be a mistake. After all, there still might have been secret passageways and doorways that the Marauders hadn't known about.

She walked past the entrance and examined the wall next to it.

Nothing. Not a single living being was in the hallways. Everyone was still in the Great Hall, celebrating, dancing, and singing at the top of their lungs.

Like an obsessed fanatic, she examined the wall to the minute details. No traces of a secret doorway.

The frown deepened. She refused to believe that someone could've been intelligent or magically powerful enough to override the wards of Hogwarts. It was simply impossible. Even Dumbledore and Voldemort, who were both extremely talented in magic, couldn't have done that. Therefore, the young man couldn't have Apparated away, if he was human.

She shut her eyes tightly, questions swarming around in her mind. The faintness from before increased as she pressed herself to find answers.

Who was he? What did he want? Where had he gone? _**What**_ was he?

Suddenly, she felt a draft pick up a lock of her hair. She almost neglected it until a distinct chuckle filled her ears, drowning out the rest of the noise.

She immediately opened her eyes, alarm written across her face and in her eyes. Gooseflesh erupted across her arm while she glanced at each and every window.

They were all closed.

Her heart pounded painfully against her chest; her eyes searched for any signs of the Hogwarts ghosts, but they were nowhere in sight. She had caught glimpses of them cheering with the living crowd inside. As much as she was trying to tell herself that there might've been ghosts whom she hadn't met yet, she couldn't convince herself.

"Hermione?" a voice called from behind her.

She whirled around, only to find her boyfriend standing there, looking at her with a worried expression on his face. A sigh of relief escaped her. Her hair must've moved because Ron had walked up to her while she was preoccupied with her thoughts. The chuckle ... well, most of the people in the Great Hall were laughing. Her ears must have picked it up, zeroing in on it for Merlin knows what reason.

Perhaps because it sounded strangely familiar to her. Although ... where had she heard that laugh before?

"Are you OK?" Ron asked carefully, interrupting her thoughts.

Hermione nodded and tucked the lock of hair behind her ear.

"Perhaps you should rest for a bit. It has been a long day," Ron suggested.

She nodded again and gave him a reassuring smile. He smiled back at her and held out his hand. Together, they walked towards the Gryffindor tower.

She was sure that he was right. She had been tired and when a person was tired, it was normal for them to invent things, illogical things, in their minds. It was all from her imagination.

It had to be.

It just had to be.

Because it would explain why she knew the voice. Why his physique reminded her of a description given to her a long time ago by Ginny. She was too tired; she'd hit her head hard; and she'd been too obsessed with that blasted man this entire year to begin with. He was dead and she should celebrate, not see things that were not there and impossible to begin with. If it had been real, surely, Ron would have seen it, too. Someone else should have seen it, too. And her head was pounding rather viciously. She rubbed her temples. Perhaps a trip to the infirmary was not such a bad idea after all?

But before she had time to go there, Harry showed up and tugged them along to the Head's Office.

She went there, following them in a daze, while Ron occasionally looked worried at her. But the huge applause from the cheering paintings, as they entered the office, woke her aching head.

Yeah, yeah, she knew they had won. Gee, couldn't they stop making such a big deal about it?

Fortunately, Harry started talking to the old coot's painting - Dumbledore's painting, Dumbledore's painting, she corrected, shocked with herself and very glad no one had any idea of the strange things entering her mind.

The other headmasters and headmistresses were too curious not to listen to Harry, so it became blissfully silent again. Besides Harry's annoying baritone, she finally had some peace and quietness and the ability to look at that wand. Wow, how it had worked. She'd never seen anything like it. For its true master, it stopped the unstoppable curse. She felt an aching desire to obtain it. All she needed to do was disarm Potter and it would be hers.

She could hardly stop the grin from forming on her face, until she heard Harry's answer.

"I don't want it," said Harry.

"Saint Potter," that familiar voice drawled to her absolute horror.

By Godric, she thought it had stopped. Hermione looked around for the origin of the mocking voice. But no one was there and she rubbed over her ears, clicking with her tongue to try to stop that annoying buzz. The buzz altered to a soft chuckle, which she felt was not an improvement at all. She shook her head to make it disappear. But nothing she did helped.

"What?" said Ron loudly. "Are you mental?"

As much as she wanted to hex the carrot head—she shook her head, trying to clear up her mind—_Ron_ for worsening her headache, she had to agree with him. He took the words right out of her mouth. This couldn't be happening. If Harry—the true master of the Elder Wand—denounced it, it would lose all its powers.

Merlin, her head must be damaged harder than she thought. What was she thinking? Harry was right. That wand was dangerous.

But she had to get it, now.

Her hand reached into her pocket where her wand lie. Her fingers curled around it. No, no, she didn't want it.

Her head spun, it felt like someone tried to smash on it with a hammer. Inside her fogged mind, she noticed Harry repairing his old wand. She had to stop him, disarm him. This was the last chance she had at obtaining the wand. She tried to tighten her grip around her wand, but her muscles wouldn't listen to her.

She rubbed her eyes out—which, strangely enough, was something she could do. What was happening to her? Was she becoming insane?

Angry ... no ... she was infuriated. Why wasn't her body obeying her commands?

"Hermione!"

"Hermione, are you all right?"

But she never heard Ron and Harry's shouts, because, with a loud thump, her body landed on the floor of the Head's Office and she was out cold.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **nothing is ours and nothing monetary is gained by us from writing this. Nothing, nothing, nothing. *cries*

**Authors' note: **We'd like to thank everyone for reading and reviewing; VinWin, ZarinaRiddle, Tommy14, MidnightThief15, The-Quiet-Girl, MidnightEclipse93, Estherrrr, Ticktocktimetorock.

Cookie to those who get the Gilmore Girls' reference in this chapter. It's a small one, so...

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**The Gold Puppet**

**Chapter Two**

Green, everything was green. Hermione opened her eyes to a swirling world. Statue snakes, a carcass, something red that moved, it all went in and out of focus. She blinked, sitting on her knees. The stench of mold filled her nostrils and something gold shined in front of her. A cup with two handles. Her hand was up in the air and she never felt more hate than in that one moment. Her eyes went sideways—she held a fang in her hand. All became clear again.

Hermione smirked. She was so going to kill him. Without hesitation, she jammed the fang in the golden cup. The moment she hit it, a shock travelled through her system. Her mouth opened and she heard a male voice scream in pain, simultaneously with her. Something hard and cold rolled against her body as she doubled over in extreme agony and she dropped the fang.

"Hermione!" yelled Ron, frightened.

She was in no condition to reply. Hermione clutched to her stomach and chest. It was like her ribs cracked open, as if someone jammed a crowbar between them to rip out her heart. Two hands gripped her arms and she cried out in pain.

Quickly, Ron withdrew. "Hermione, Hermione," he sounded panicky. "What's wrong? What can I do?" He looked helplessly at the exit, wishing they hadn't gone here alone, because he had no idea how to help her. "Please be all right, Hermione."

But she wasn't. She tried to answer him, to reassure him that she was OK, but a sickening crack sounded inside her chest and she gasped for air. Quickly, she placed her hands on the ground for support, but one came to rest on what she identified as that blasted cup. Her stomach turned and she dry-heaved a couple of times, causing her head to feel like it exploded.

"What's that?" squeaked Ron, upon noticing a dark mist vacating the cup.

_Thud._

In between her dry-heaving, she registered the soft mass of red hair that fell on top of her left hand. Ron had passed out. Why?

"That would be me," a snarky male voice drawled, answering Ron's previous question, before he kicked the unconscious body out of the way.

Shock flooded her system upon recognising the voice. No, they were both going to die!

She turned her head, causing her world to spin, and she fell on her side before she rolled to her back—her hand clinging to the cup, unable to let go. A dark mist vacated the cup slowly and she followed its trajectory with her eyes. It collided with the chest of a young man in Slytherin robes. There he stood, the bane of her existence—Tom Marvolo Riddle—exactly as Ginny had described to her.

Her eyes widened with horror, and panic nearly caused her to black out. She wanted to scream out of frustration. Out of all possibilities, they _had _to encounter _him, _while Ron was unconscious and she was in no condition to fight. She doubted that the both of them together could've defeated Lord Voldemort in a duel, but the chances of survival were, at least, higher.

Her mind raced, as she mentally calculated every option available to her to come out of this alive and preferably victorious. He held a wand in his hand, Ron's. But despite it, he didn't seem entirely solid. A vague mist clung around him like it did to people who walked outside on a foggy day, be that a dark fog.

She moved, trying to pull her wand. It was a mistake. She felt like all her bones got broken at once and an unearthly cry left her mouth, the sound barely identifiable as hers. She froze; her eyes wide in fear and pain, she tried to make her breaths as shallow as possible. It hurt. Oh Merlin, moving hurt. She had to be dying, because he just stood there, smirking down at her with a cold and condescending look, while he twirled Ron's wand between his long fingers, not making any attempts to help her or put her out of her misery.

Was he more solid than a minute ago?

Lying as still as she could, she noted that the more dark mist from the cup entered his chest, the livelier he seemed to become. She had to stop this! A pitying glint darted through his dark eyes when she made another attempt to move, to let go of the cup and draw her wand, only to be screaming in agony again without accomplishing anything.

"The first time always hurts, Hermione." She didn't much care for the intimate and taunting way he pronounced her name. "Although, it seems to cost you more than it did me." He seemed to find that amusing, because he chuckled at the end of the sentence.

"You," she hissed furiously, tightening her facial muscles at the pain that pulsed through her from that tiny exertion on her side.

His lip curled up and he took another step closer to her. Towering right above her still figure, he was the most intimidating person she'd ever met.

"Yes, me," he said quietly. "You didn't think that you, a filthy little Mudblood, could possibly kill the greatness that is Lord Voldemort? A creature of such low stature polluting the wizarding world with your incompetence, breathing the air reserved for those more worthy than scum like you. You're nothing but muck sticking on the sole of my shoes and it disgusts me you dare to infest a Founder's item with your essence," he spat.

The last bit of black mist entered his chest and Tom Riddle inhaled exaggeratedly, pushing his chest forward and leaning back, his arms stretched out to the side.

"Finally," he spoke more to himself than to Hermione, who noticed she suddenly was able to breathe normally again. Her pain subsided and ... she could move!

Swiftly, she tossed the cup at Riddle's head and went for her wand. He swatted it away as if it were a fly and stamped on her wrist, pinning her wandhand to the ground. She cried out and tried to yank her arm out from underneath his foot, but he pointed his wand at her.

"Stop moving," he threatened.

Furiously, she glared at him; but she complied to his command, for she saw no opening to do any damage to him.

_Buy yourself time_, she thought. _He's a talker, Harry told me so. Not to mention he never seemed to shut up when I wore the locket, _she recalled, annoyed.

He squatted down without removing his foot off her wrist. The subsequent rolling pressure on her bones made her whimper, and she bit her lip to silence herself, not wanting him to get the satisfaction of seeing how much he hurt her. Watching her agony with intense satisfaction, he only removed his foot from her wrist to maintain his balance, while making sure to grind her bones in the process. Before she had time to do anything, he pressed Ron's wand in the hollow of her throat. Her breath hitched. This was it. He was going to kill her.

"You really don't know what just happened, do you, Mudblood?" he sneered with clear amusement at her cost. "How you assisted me in regaining my body by replacing my Horcrux with your own."

As if to emphasise his words, he summoned the cup and dangled it in front of her eyes. Hermione felt all colour withdraw from her cheeks. Did he say replacing?

His cold laughter bounced off the Chamber's walls. "Oh dear, is it too upsetting for your high morality to know you just created a Horcrux?"

"N-no," she stuttered.

"Y-yes," he copied mockingly.

Tight-lipped, Hermione glared at him. "I didn't perform the three spells necessary to create a Horcrux. I haven't taken in ten drops of Draught of Living Death and I surely didn't kill anyone."

Riddle smirked at her. "I took the drops; I performed the spells; I prepared this cup for whoever would try to kill me," he explained smugly, rolling the cup between his hands. "It can hold its contents forever, you know. Nothing in it will ever go stale or bad. Helga Hufflepuff charmed it that way. Hepzibah never knew what a powerful item she really had, but I—Lord Voldemort—found out its secrets and used it to protect myself. I knew someday someone—possibly an enemy—could find my Horcrux and try to destroy it. You tried to kill a part of me, Hermione, and you did it with enough hatred for it to damage your soul. I already laid the groundwork for the creation of my attacker's Horcrux, but you gave me the finishing touch—your hate."

"Why would you want to make your enemy immortal?"

"Because by pushing in your soul, mine got freed, an exchange so to speak," Riddle explained triumphantly. "And I have to thank you for being so kind to do this inside the Chamber of Secrets." He looked around fondly. "I was bored to tears, haunting this place, never able to leave ever since Potter," he spat out the name, "destroyed my journal."

"You didn't die, then?" asked Hermione, horrified, glancing sideways where her wand lay, just out of her reach_. _

_But Ginny woke. What did this mean for the other allegedly destroyed __Horcruxes__? _

"No heir of Salazar Slytherin can truly die inside the Chamber of Secrets. These walls are filled with olde magick. It took a couple of months before I was restored back to the state of almost being fully solid and alive again. But I couldn't leave the Chamber, for outside it, the protection would cease and I would be erased from existence."

Hermione smirked. So, he was trapped here. That was a huge relief.

"That's no longer the case anymore," Riddle said, wiping the smirk off her face. "This"—he wiggled the cup—"had just enough power to reinstate me fully. Lord Voldemort is back." His lips curved into a self-satisfied grin. "And _**very**_ much alive."

Shit. That meant that Harry had to get rid of _two _Voldemorts, and it was because of her and Ron's stupidity. They should've guessed that there was something more to the Chambers of Secrets than a stupid Basilisk. After all, the name said secrets, _plural_. She should have thought of that before now and had Harry - Harry! Someone had to warn Harry! She glanced around, searching for an opportunity. Ron! If she could wake him, perhaps ...

He laughed as he stowed the cup away in his pocket.

"It's not going work, Hermione," he said softly, in the way that adults would speak to children, and patted her cheek.

Either her disgust had shown on her face or he had performed Legilimency on her without her knowing—or perhaps both—but he chuckled again and purposely drew a single finger down her cheek.

"Tell me, Granger," he demanded, authority not diminished in the slightest by the soft voice he was using, "did you really think that I, Lord Voldemort, would lose to Potter, a silly little boy merely surviving because of luck and help? Did you think that children like you," a condescending glint flashed through his eyes as he eyed her features, "could defeat me?"

She glared back at him stubbornly, refusing to answer his question. He raised an eyebrow and slowly ground his foot back into her wrist. She bit her lower lip to prevent herself from whimpering; but he saw her discomfort, she could tell by the way his eyes lit up.

"You know, Granger, I would've thought that that old coot would've taught you lot simple manners," Riddle said conversationally. He narrowed his eyes at her, "You will answer me when I ask you questions, Mudblood."

Flames of fury lighted up in her eyes. She had never felt so much hatred toward another living being in her life. If she could've moved, she would've attacked him, with her bare hands if she didn't have her wand. She wanted to rip that smug look from his face, tear his hair out, and sink her teeth into whichever part of him she could reach. But that wand was still pointed at her throat, and she knew she would never be fast enough for anything to work.

"I hope you rot in hell_, Riddle_. It doesn't matter if you kill Ron and me today. Harry will figure it all out on his own and defeat you again, just like the way he defeated you again and again before," she growled through gritted teeth.

Although she knew that there was only a slim chance that Harry could figure everything out without Ron and her help, she merely wanted to wipe that annoying smirk off his face.

In response to her taunt, he smiled instead, a joyful expression on his face, as if he was enjoying a particularly entertaining show.

"Name me one time when Potter has figured out anything on his own," he dared her mockingly.

Hermione racked her brain and he laughed out jubilantly when she came up empty. She really, _**really**_ hated that laugh.

"And I thought I've told you already." He shook his head and clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You've made a Horcrux, _dear_." He patted his pocket and his expression shifted to a mocking one when he said the endearment. "I believe that means that you're not going to die any time soon."

She stared at him, not sure what he was playing at. It didn't make sense. He was practically handing her weapons to use against him—she knew that he was alive now, which meant that she could tell Harry, and if she wasn't going to die, that meant that she could take risks that she normally wouldn't dare take.

"So naive," he commented, like he was really sorry about something that was supposedly defective about her. "So pure, simple, and utterly _disgusting_." He ended his words with a sneer. "I'm surprised that Dumbledore trusted you with a mission like this." He glanced at the pocket that was holding the cup. "You've lost your chance, Hermione. You're not going to get another one," he sighed exaggeratedly. "Sure you don't want to take a chance and try to beat me in a duel?" He smiled encouragingly at her, wiggling his eyebrows.

Hermione felt her body shaking with anger now, very much annoyed with his taunts and just_ him_, in general.

"Sorry I have to cut the conversation short," he said, glancing around the Chamber of Secrets, "however, I have places to be and we can't have you disappearing on Potter. I'm sure he will need all the help he can get from you."

She nearly screamed out of frustration when he patted her on her head, as one would to a child or a pet.

She wanted to take another verbal swipe at him, but he had already risen from his squatted position next to her and pointed the wand at Ron. Before he cast his spell, he looked at the wand and wrinkled his nose.

"I suppose I could—" he muttered, not finishing, but swirling Ron's wand around in an intricate pattern. The walls of the Chamber lit up and trembled briefly. "Accio my yew wand!" he spoke out loud.

Hermione was sure he did it to taunt her. He obviously needn't cast verbally.

The ceiling cracked; a hole appeared, swirling around like a tornado. But this tornado didn't suck; it spat out a bright white wand. Riddle caught it in his hand, sheer happiness written all over his features.

"Not that it is much use to him," he jibed, as he returned Ron's wand in the redhead's pocket with a flick of his own. "But even a dork like him would know something was off if it wasn't there anymore."

Now, he pointed his yew wand at Ron's face. Desperately, Hermione kicked in his direction. But he quickly jumped out of her range.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Muggle tactics, I should have known," he sneered disparagingly.

But her attack at him was a diversion to disguise she was reaching for her wand, which he had swatted away before. And now, it was in her hand and she aimed. Yet, for some reason, she hesitated with her curse. She didn't want to attack him.

_**What?**_

She did. She had wanted to curse his sorry arse all the way back to Salazar Slytherin's time ever since she first learned about his bigotry and how _**he**_ was the reason why Harry was orphaned. There were no reasons why she should even think about the word "mercy" when it came down to him.

She frowned, not understanding why she was getting these strange emotions and reactions. Her face contorted in regret and hatred when her wand flew from her hand and rolled just a little further out of reach than before.

"Now, where was I?" he said, rubbing his chin in mock consideration as if he really didn't remember. A malignant glint danced through his eyes as he noticed her fear when he pointed his wand back at Ron. "Worried about the blood-traitor?"

He didn't wait for her reply and started casting. She recognised the wand-movements as belonging to the memory-modifying charm.

"We don't want his tiny one braincell to remember, do we?" he mocked, and with a swat, he threw Ron across the Chamber of Secrets forcefully. Hermione watched in horror how Ron's body crashed into Salazar's statue, _**hard. **_

"You, rotten, foul—" she started rambling, while Riddle's wand turned a loose stone next to her head into a couple of golden fragments, reminiscence of an allegedly destroyed cup. "—loathsome, half-blood bastard, low-life, butt-faced miscreant—" she stopped naming every sordid thing that described Riddle in her opinion abruptly when that same wand got pointed at her, though she was obviously nowhere near done yet.

"_Obliviate_."

xXx

Hermione sprung up on her bed, cold sweat clinging her pyjamas to her body. Seconds later, however, she crashed back onto the bed.

"Hermione!"

The shout alerted her that there were others in the room, too.

"Madam Pomfrey, someone get Madam Pomfrey!" Harry's voice resounded in her ears.

She tried to open her eyes, but found that she couldn't. She clutched her head with her hand, a frown creasing her forehead and the headache threatening to split her brain apart.

She tried to recall the dream—no, nightmare she had. She remembered it was important and somehow involved Harry and Ron. However, try as she may, the only thing she could remember was the fact that it had been a bad dream and Ron had been in it. Other than that, she couldn't remember anything that happened. To her dismay, the harder she tried to remember the dream, the further away it seemed to get from her.

"You have to give her some room! The girl just blacked out from sheer exhaustion! She's going to need as much fresh air as she can," she was mildly aware of the Mediwitch saying.

_It was just a bad dream, just a bad dream_, she repeated to herself mentally, trying to shake the ominous feeling.

She felt herself being hoisted into a sitting position, and something was pressed against her lips.

"Drink up, dear," Madam Pomfrey's soothing voice said beside her ear.

Without thinking, she opened her mouth and drank the potion.

"Sleep well, Miss Granger." Madam Pomfrey's voice drifted further and further away from her, as her body relaxed and her awareness started to blur once more.

Suddenly, she heard that familiar soft chuckle again. "Sleep well, Miss Granger," the voice like satin wrapped around her mind. "You're going to need it."

Before she could even try to stay awake, she was dragged back into the land of unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Yes, nothing changed. The copyright is still JKR's and we make no money from writing this.

**Authors' note: **We'd like to thank everyone for reading and reviewing; Lora, The-Quiet-Girl, Mydia88, Vinwin, Patie, Sweet-tang-honney, Cosettex, MidnightEclipse93, and MidnightThief15.

Lora; I suppose that means we were dropped on our heads as babies as well, for we love evil!Tom, too. And you have a large number of very relevant, legitimate questions, which we really can't reply to, because it would be dreadfully spoiling. But we'll do our best to update soon, writing together is a lot of fun and a lot faster than when you have to do it alone.

* * *

**The Gold Puppet**

**Chapter 3**

With a puff of gold smoke, the blood-red liquid turned to a pale green colour, although a drop of black right in the middle of the potion remained unchanged. A satisfied smile appeared on his face and slowly turned to joyful laughter. His hand, however, never stopped stirring the content in the gold cup.

"It's not going to work," he whispered tauntingly to the cup.

In response, it started to shake feebly, attempting to displace the potion. He watched with a smirk, sensing Hermione Granger's anger. Purposely, he ran his forefinger around the rim of the goblet, laughing even more joyfully than before when the cup became unresponsive once again.

Slowly, the dot of black in the potion began to dissolve.

"Silly little girl," Tom Riddle said, his eyes dancing with merriment.

As if he was going to allow the girl, or rather, the girl's _Horcrux _to show Hermione Granger what had happened. For a moment, he almost wished that Albus Dumbledore was still alive, so he could throw the news his precious champion Mudblood had split her soul into the old fool's face. Imagining the look on the coot's face and his disappointment in his "golden" heroine, made his lip curve up in a vile smile.

However, he couldn't let filth like her warn others he was still around. His Memory Charm had worked perfectly, but the silly Horcrux had tried to warn her, sending outrageous words to her mind and making her sick to get her to notice something was off. He had to imperius the Horcrux to prevent it from spilling the beans on him — unlike those unskilled fools, he was able to use the Imperius Curse with delicacy and precision, making sure the normal happy-go-lucky, unrealistic side effects were absent. It had been when he figured if the Horcrux could reach her real-life body, he could too, by using it. He had invaded Granger's mind with absurd ease. Gryffindors were such lousy Occlumens.

He snorted.

But, to his absolute disgust and surprise, the Horcrux had fought off his imperius when he tried to use her to get the Elder Wand, which also caused him to lose his grip on her mind. Their fight had taken too much of the girl's magic and she had collapsed, making it impossible for him to stop Potter. Bloody sacrificing Gryffindor heroics — no Slytherin would have caused him this aggravation.

So, he couldn't take the risk, especially after he noticed the Horcrux made an effort to reach her mind after she'd collapsed by infiltrating her dreamworld and showing her what had really happened inside the Chamber of Secrets. Besides, he had better things to do than imperius a Mudblood all day long. He had to make her forget it, _again_.

"Nothing a bit of potion can't solve," Tom murmured, feeling the Horcrux's anger increase.

_Who said that "good" potions couldn't be used with other intentions?_ he thought, thoroughly amused.

He'd always found the distinction some made between good and evil magic ridiculous. It was all about power and the ability to wield said power. He had plenty of it and no qualms in using it. "Evil" was just a construct designed by the elite to hold those more powerful than them back — to keep everyone in rein, so they would not rise up in a bloody revolution. Good or evil potions, he would use whatever was available to achieve his objectives and the potion he now used was created and commonly used when people wished to forget nightmares. In this case, he was _sooo_ sure Granger would want to forget what she had dreamt.

He chuckled.

No, he could not let Potter know that he was alive again. It would hinder his plans, and he didn't need those idiots who were striving to become heroes knocking down his hideaway every single day. Killing morons was so tedious, he recalled.

Although Potter's expression might be quite amusing when the boy found out that Tom Riddle now had _three_ soul parts, instead of just the two necessary for him to live again.

He was actually quite surprised to find how unstable the soul still residing in his other self had become; the moment what was left of his soul there had detected him, it had fled to him, as if attracted to the other much larger parts or to his much stronger magic?

Yes, Tom knew he was the superior one of the two of them.

Of course, the Mudblood Horcrux and he himself were the only ones who knew that the soul part of the Lord Voldemort that was recently "vanquished" by Potter was now residing in him. He sneered at the verb since the boy hadn't done anything, but stand there, chat, and use that silly Disarming Spell again. Saint Potter hadn't even tried to kill him, the epitome of humiliation. It totally disgusted him how he had become so utterly ... _stupid_ throughout the years. Out of all things, he had to insist that _he_ was the one who must kill Potter? Why had he cared? Dead was dead after all.

Or perhaps the idiocy was yet another side effect of the Horcruxes?

Yes, regretfully, there were negative side effects in creating Horcruxes, something which he'd learnt much, _much_ later in life and quite some time _after _he'd spent years hunting down legacies from the Founders and turning them into said objects. It was annoying, really, that with each Horcrux he'd created, he had lost a small part of his magic. The amount was so little that he had not detected it at all. However, after all seven Horcruxes had been made ...

But it was no longer a problem, and he should really thank the Mudblood and the blood-traitor for helping him. _A most likely scenario._

He sniggered at his delightful little inside joke. Besides, it was not them he owed. It was his ancestor who helped restore his magic.

Salazar Slytherin himself had been a great wizard and owner of a fabulous collection of books and magical objects. When he had created the Chamber of Secrets, he had decided to hide within it most of what he had owned. So in order to preserve them and to maintain the Chamber in their best condition, a great amount of magic had been used.

When Tom had been "recreated", so to speak, he had "absorbed" a good fraction of that magic, not to the extent that would have caused the room to cave in, but much more than the amount he had lost and more than enough to allow him to do magic that he previously had been unable to do.

He had yet to find out the reason why he could Apparate inside of Hogwarts now. Was it simply because he had gained a larger amount of magic? Or because the source of magic came directly from Salazar Slytherin himself? Although books never recorded it, it was possible that each of the Founders could easily do things that other Headmasters and Headmistresses couldn't do.

But that wasn't the only puzzle he had to investigate. He also had to look into preventing Granger's new-found ability to see through his impeccable Disillusionment Charm, because that could become a problem in the future. He'd known it would happen, being that his very creation was connected to her life-force. If he had known in advance it would be a stinking Mudblood daring to desecrate _**his**_ cup, he would have thought of another method to protect it. But he was stuck with her now; it was absolutely revolting.

He felt violated, having such an unworthy creature besmear him with her essence. Though, it was only a minor quantity, as he kept reminding himself, he still felt dirty. He wanted to take a shower to wash away the feeling, but it was inside of him, her filthy, despicable, Muggle energy. He balled his fists and stared at the cup with fury.

_Oh, how she would pay for this._

He'd make her sorry she'd ever been born. He'd make her sorry her stinking parents had the nerve to procreate and pollute the world with more of their inferior, unclean, muddy genes. She'd feel his wrath first hand and she would crawl at his feet where she belonged, begging his forgiveness, which he would not grant her.

His eyes flashed red as he looked at Hufflepuff's cup on the table before him. He had to control his temper in order not to smash it into a million pieces. But Hermione Jean Granger would get exactly what she deserved for thinking she was allowed to exist, for thinking she had a right to breathe, for thinking she could oppose and try to kill him, for thinking she could contaminate Lord Voldemort—the greatest wizard of all—with her atrocious, pathetic magic. This whole situation was obscene and he had to find a method to purge himself, eventually.

But first, he'd use their connection to his benefit. This time around, Lord Voldemort would be victorious.

He raised his wand at the cup and smirked when it trembled on its feet briefly. "Wakey, wakey, Granger," he mocked right before casting one of the darkest of spells.

xXx

With a violent surge of coughing, Hermione woke once again. This time, however, at least her head no longer felt as if it was being hacked apart by a machete, although her temples were still slightly throbbing. The sound of chairs scratching against the floor immediately reached her ears and threatened to magnify her headache.

"Hermione, how are you feeling?" Ron asked, holding onto her hand.

She shook her head and the hand Ron wasn't holding onto, signalling she couldn't reply, because she was still unable to stop coughing.

"Madam Pomfrey, we should get Madam Pomfrey," Ginny suggested, and she ran to the nurse's office.

A glass of water was stuffed into her hand, and she really wanted to roll her eyes if she could. Honestly, how did they propose she'd drink the water if she couldn't even stop herself from coughing? When she had another coughing fit, water sloshed over the rim of the glass, drenching her sheets. Ron started patting the wet spot with his torn sleeve in a kind yet totally disgusting unhygienic method of assistance. He should be thankful the nurse was not yet here to witness his "_help_".

A hand patted her on her back—Harry's hand, she realised.

"Out of my way," Madam Pomfrey's voice spoke, and Harry stepped aside, clearing the area for professional assistance.

When her coughs began to subside, a goblet of weird smelling potion was placed against her lips, and she wrinkled her nose. Did they expect her to drink that? Somehow, she felt slightly distrustful, like potions could harm instead of help her. So, she pressed her lips firmly together.

"Drink this, Miss Granger, it will make the headache go away," Madam Pomfrey said.

_For real_?

Without a second thought, Hermione opened her mouth and drank the liquid. After a few minutes, the headache finally came to a stop, and she thanked her lucky stars that Madam Pomfrey was such an excellent nurse. And closing her lips together had been rather childish. She knew the nurse meant her no harm and she wasn't four years old anymore.

"How are you feeling now, Miss Granger?" the mediwitch asked.

Hermione blinked a couple of times and nodded. "Loads better," she answered, a smile finally appearing on her face. "Thanks, Madam Pomfrey."

"Thank Merlin you lot are leaving school," Madam Pomfrey glared at Hermione, Ron, and Harry, in that order. "There wasn't a single year when I haven't at least seen one of you."

Despite her harsh words, they could hear the endearment in her tone of voice, and it was apparent when she bustled around the room, retrieving different potions in order to mix a concoction for Hermione, that she cared a lot about their well-being.

"You gave us quite a scare when you just suddenly fainted," Ginny said quietly, concern shining through her eyes. "Harry and Ron didn't know what to do. Good thing McGonagall entered the Head's Office just in time."

"What happened?" Hermione asked, not quite remembering anything after what happened in the Head's Office.

"Madam Pomfrey said that you were too exhausted," Harry answered apologetically.

"Oh, stop being a prat, Harry," Hermione chided, rolling her eyes.

_"As if he could've destroyed the Horcruxes without anyone's help," someone mocked._

Oh no. She was still hearing that voice. She grabbed her hair and shook her head, attempting to shake it out. With a soft chuckle, the voice silenced again.

"Hermione?" Harry frowned.

She gave him a small smile and shook her head. "I think ..."

"It's probably after-effects from what happened in the Chamber of Secrets," Ron spoke up, successfully breaking off Hermione's words.

Harry and Ginny turned and looked at him.

"What happened?" Ginny asked, curiosity written all over her freckled face.

"After Hermione stabbed the cup, we were thrown backwards into one of the statues. Well, we both hit our heads pretty hard and passed out."

"You passed out?" A frown promptly appeared on Ginny's face.

"We both passed out," Hermione quickly corrected, and her lip curled.

She had no idea why she wanted to clear up what had happened, but she just blurted it out before she had time to think. However, Ginny's frown hadn't gone away with her words; in fact, it deepened. Ginny was now staring at her as if hell had come to earth, as if she saw something entirely dreadful. Quickly, Hermione changed her expression to one of sincere innocence.

"Ron just likes everyone to forget he hit his head, too," she informed them, very amused when Madam Pomfrey found that alarming enough to begin meddling with him, too.

"There is nothing wrong with me," Ron objected, trying to pull his head out of the nurse's firm grasp when she pushed on his skull.

"Does this hurt?"

"Well, yea-hah," Ron said in a _duh-uh_ tone of voice, "you're crushing my head."

"Nothing's broken," Madam Pomfrey mumbled, before swirling her wand around Ron's head. A purple circle formed above his head and slowly descended. Ron's hand flew up, but before he could scratch his face to stop the itch, Poppy Pomfrey grabbed his hand. "No touching."

"It itches," Ron complained, while the circle turned white as it moved down.

"No apparent brain damage," the nurse concluded, while waving her wand again to extinguish the Diagnostic Charm.

"I said I _**was**_ fine," Ron grumbled with clear emphasis on the past tense, while rubbing his face relentlessly.

But Ginny wasn't paying attention to Ron's little antics; she scrutinised Hermione. It began to grate on her nerves, seeing the redhead stare at her face with that wide deer-eyed terror look. She should give the girl something to be really frightened about.

_Annoying little chit_, the voice sounded in her mind again.

Hermione, however reluctantly, had to agree with it. Couldn't Ginny find something else to stare at? It made her feel as if there really _**was **_something wrong with her, and it was especially irritable when that voice was still bothering her and _**just wouldn't go away**_**.**

_Hearing voices no one else can hear is never a good sign, even in the wizarding world_, her mind recalled Ron telling Harry. She was about to speak up and ask Madam Pomfrey for assistance in this matter when something else came out of her mouth entirely.

"Something the matter, Ginny?" she asked sweetly.

"Riddle," Ginny whispered barely audible.

"What?" asked Harry, eyes darting from Ginny to Hermione.

"It's Tom Riddle," Ginny said more firmly, rising from her rickety chair and pointing to Hermione. "He's inside her. Something went wrong in the chamber. It must have."

Hermione snorted. "And they say I hurt my head."

Madam Pomfrey furrowed her eyebrows and stared at Ginny, examining the redhead as if she was trying to see if the girl was ill or wounded.

"Ginny," Harry started hesitantly. "That's not possible."

"Why not? Don't you see it?" Ginny shouted, alarmed. "Look at her."

Everyone looked at Hermione, who hoisted her shoulders apologetically, showing she clearly had no idea what Ginny was going on about. Her eyes darted meaningfully from Harry to Ginny, showing him her concern for his girlfriend before she glanced back at Ginny with the expression of a parent hovering over their feverish child.

"Don't!" Ginny shrieked, her voice going up an octave in pitch. "Don't ever give me that look again, Riddle!"

"Hermione destroyed the cup, Ginny," Ron interrupted, watching his hysterical sister worried. "I saw it. He screamed when she destroyed it."

Ginny shook her head, obviously not convinced by the evidence given to her.

"That also happened to the tiara," Harry recalled carefully, in a voice one would use on skittish animals to prevent them from bolting.

"And the locket," Ron said, making sure to add his moment of glory.

Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes at how boastful he was. The locket was just _there_. What was the most it could've done? Chomp at his toes? It was not as if he'd beaten Riddle properly in a duel. He'd just stabbed the thing with Gryffindor's sword, because Harry'd told him to. Gee, heroic, anyone could do that.

She noted Madam Pomfrey had pulled her wand unobtrusively, while eyeing Ginny's behaviour. Though, on occasion, the mediwitch looked in her direction, too. That was positively unacceptable. Any kind of possible suspicion had to be buried thoroughly, _now_.

"Plus, Voldemort died when his curse rebounded," Hermione added reasonably. "He didn't become some fleeting vapour as before when Harry was still a baby. So, he couldn't have had a Horcrux around anymore."

That settled it for everyone_, except for Ginny_.

"He's doing to her what he did to me!" Ginny hollered. "You have to help her. We have to do something. You don't know what it is like when he possesses you." She grabbed Harry by his shoulders and shook him. "Look at her, Harry, look at her expression. It's his. I know—"

Abruptly, Ginny collapsed in Harry's arms when Madam Pomfrey's Calming Charm hit her. Harry lifted her and watched her with worry. Ron ran around the bed, until he stood next to Harry and stared at his younger sister, panic apparent in his stance and expression.

"Quickly, put her in that bed over there, Harry," Madam Pomfrey ordered. "Weasley, go get your parents. She is going to need all the help she can get."

A frown creased Ron's forehead, but he followed her directions, nonetheless. The same expression was on Hermione's face—was Ginny right? Was she being possessed by Tom Riddle? After all, she had been hearing a voice—which sounded an awful lot like him—ever since the incident in the Chamber.

_Nonsense_, she told herself.

She'd had a hard time getting his voice out of her head after the locket had been destroyed, too. The vile things he had said to her...

Though she hadn't bolted as Ron had done, his words had stung and she'd been unable to simply shake it out of her system. She recalled how she had tossed and turned in her bed at Shell Cottage, hearing his voice whisper what an utter failure she was. How she was going to get Harry killed, because she wasn't as smart as everyone hoped she would be. No, Riddle had a way of slithering into your deepest fears and worries, and then, he stirred them around for his amusement. It was no wonder his voice lingered around her.

Besides, Ginny had never mentioned anything about hearing voices in her head after what happened in her first year. A possessed person would have no idea that she was being possessed, and Ginny had moments when she ended up in places she had no idea how she got there in the first place. That had never happened to Hermione at all. It was quite clear that her symptoms now were simply enhanced, because she got hit on her head; although she had no idea if audible hallucinations really were a symptom of a concussion, or if they were simply there due to those sordid devices. She'd have to check in the library later.

No, she knew that Ginny was just overreacting—in a very bothersome way. Hermione could hardly control the small grin from appearing on her face. At least she wouldn't have to suffer from the girl hovering over her, because she'd be afraid that a killing spree would begin. Hermione mentally snorted.

_As if that would ever happen._

Harry placed Ginny on one of the beds and looked back at the nurse.

"What's wrong with her, Madam Pomfrey?" he asked, concern laced throughout his words. "She was fine a few moments ago. She even battled Bellatrix Lestrange and all."

"This is not uncommon, Harry. I can't be sure, of course, since I am not a psychologist Healer, but it looks like some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder. Ginny's been in here before, getting Dreamless Sleep Potions—ever since the diary incident in her first year, that is. Now it is all permanently over and he is gone for good, her mind can finally give voice to her—"

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley cried out loudly, storming into the infirmary, followed by a horde of redheads.

Everyone talked through one another, asking the nurse questions about Ginny's condition, while Mrs. Weasley rocked her in her arms like she was still a baby. Everyone had their eyes on the unconscious girl. Nobody noticed how Hermione's eyes danced with merriment, and how she placed her hands behind her head casually, watching the show unfold before her eyes.

"You really need to take her to a psychologist Healer this time, Arthur," Madam Pomfrey said sternly.

"Albus said she was fine," he replied softly, looking at his daughter concerned. "I am sorry we didn't listen to you when you told us this before, but Ginny didn't want to go either and we thought..." he stopped talking, upset that he had let this happen to Ginny.

"I know," Madam Pomfrey said softly. "I should have insisted upon it more. We're all to blame she didn't get the proper help."

"Well, that's not going to be the case anymore," George said firmly. "I have earned more than enough money to get her the best Healer in the world."

While everyone had their attention on Ginny, a smirk slowly spread across Hermione's face. As suddenly as it had appeared, it disappeared, and Hermione blinked twice, not quite remembering what had just happened. She stared at the Weasleys, wondering when they had entered the infirmary.

She raised her eyebrows and scratched her head. She must've been more absorbed in her thoughts than she had thought she had been, or maybe she had passed out again? As if on cue, the soft chuckle echoed in her mind again. Although she frowned, she was thankful that at least it was a lot lower in volume than the previous times, for her head ached again.

_Perhaps it will go away after a while_, she pondered optimistically. _Once this concussion is healed, everything will be alright again._

And that thought made her smile.

Harry looked up at the same time, caught her eyes, and gave her a weak smile back.

"Is Ginny going to be alright?" asked Hermione.

"She will be," Harry assured them both. "She will be."

Well, as long as Ginny was going to be alright, nothing could possibly be amiss. Right?


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **This does get mighty repetitive. Well, okay, since we don't want to lose that one Knut in our pocket... Everything in the Potterverse belongs to JKR not us, and we get no extra Knuts or any other monetary compensation for writing this. Duh.

**Authors' note: **Thank you for reading and reviewing; The-Quiet-Girl, Patie, Lora, Vinwin, MidnightThief15, Cosettex, Sweet-tang-honney, Aashta Panit, Matterhorn, MidnightEclipse93.

Lora:LOL, well, we wouldn't say that the Dark Lord finds killing _altogether _boring - he just doesn't want to spend unnecessary time, doing unnecessary things, to unnecessary people. After all, he did and will enjoy a few other kills. ;)  
And we think he would quite disagree to the idea of "stupidity" being part of his ego. Nope, it's not part of him, since he's the revived version of Lord Voldemort - not the snake-faced one. And he might possibly feel that Snake-face is the one who would need the shrink; definitely not him. /snigger/  
Because of course a soul is useless, it does absolutely nothing for him... (insert eye roll). Yes, we do agree that pouting and arrogance, when found in a certain Dark Lord, are rather attractive qualities. Then again, as long as it's not fluffy!Tom /shiver at the thought of fluffy!Toms/.  
We'll do our best with the updating, and as Nerys had said, writing is a lot easier and more fun with two people than one. Hope you'll find this chapter enjoyable!

* * *

**The Gold Puppet**

**Chapter 4**

"We are the champions! No time fer losers, 'cause we are the champions!" Hagrid sang loudly, a nearly empty bottle of Firewhiskey in his hand, while he staggered around the grounds, swaying back and forth due to the substantial amount of alcohol in his system.

The full moon shone through the clouds, brightening the area. A dark shadow moved at the rim of the Forbidden Forest, and Hagrid squinted in its direction. A breath of fire sparked from all its ends, showing the now twenty-five feet long Blast-Ended Skrewt in all its hideous glory. The giant scorpion-like creature curled his long sting over his back, identifying it as being a male. Hagrid knew it had to be the one who'd survived the maze of the Triwizard Tournament intact and had fled to the Forbidden Forest afterward.

"Biscuit! Yeh've come back ter me!" he slurred, stumbling in the direction of the dangerous beast with his arms held wide.

_This was almost too easy, _Riddle thought sarcastically, standing out of sight in the Forbidden Forest, but close enough to keep "_Biscuit" _under control. He made the beast turn to Hagrid, making sure its deadly sting was aimed at its target.

Killing a half-breed Giant was problematic since it required repeated casting, because every curse would bounce off the oaf's thick skin, and he couldn't afford "_Professor Hagrid_" to alarm anyone. Lord Voldemort's existence had to remain a secret and that meant killing everyone who could identify him.

Besides, he'd found there was a poetic justice in using the Skrewt. His Basilisk was dead, because those meddlesome children believed in the oversized clod's innocence. Angry, his eyes flashed red; his face contorted; and his knuckles turned white, gripping his wand tighter. Not only was he a nuisance back in school, the poor excuse for a wizard and equally unfit giant caused him plenty of trouble during the battle of Hogwarts, just by existing. Him and his stupid, oversized, idiotic half brother. Well, perhaps Tom should be glad that the moron was such an utter failure, or else things would've been more complicated than necessary. As it was, Hagrid had only run around after his dog the whole time.

But no matter. Rubeus Hagrid wouldn't be around much longer.

This made him incredibly happy and his muscles relaxed, forming a broad smile on his moonlit face as he watched the utter fool grab a hold of the Skrewt's —_er_ ...— well, he had no idea what body part it was actually that Hagrid hugged onto, but it was unimportant. His wand swirled above his head. Biscuit's sting flashed forward at tremendous speed and struck Hagrid in his back.

"Ouch!" Hagrid cried out. "Bad Biscuit," he slurred.

His intoxicated mind did not realise he was in serious trouble, yet. But he would soon find out, because that venom was a potent paralysing agent, potent enough to floor a dozen real giants.

With a satisfied expression, Riddle lowered his wand. He could leave the rest up to nature. The Skrewt was not a tame pet, and Hagrid had no control over it. That became very apparent when its ends sprayed fire all over his creator. A sharp pang sounded when the bottle dropped from Hagrid's hand and broke before it hit the ground due to the immense heat. What little alcohol had remained in there erupted like a white flame to the sky.

The screams of pain were music to Tom's ears.

The Skrewt clutched to Hagrid, pressing his immobile body against its soft underbelly—the only place the animal wasn't covered by its thick, shiny, grey armour. It had taken a lot of manoeuvring on Tom's end, but eventually, he'd been able to strike the animal with the Imperius Curse at its only weak spot.

A loud sucking sound filled the air along with the crackling of flames, and Hagrid had turned quiet.

Tom silently laughed. This was all coming together quite nicely. His eyes glittered as he saw the struggle in Hagrid's eyes, illuminated by another burst of fire from the Skrewt. The half-Giant's mouth was wide open, although no sounds came out.

Definitely a piece of artwork.

"Goodbye, Hagrid," he said softly, a sneer pulling at the corners of his lips. "Monsters don't make good pets, do they? As I've told you ... oh, give or take half a century ago."

What would that oaf do if he found out Tom was behind all of this? He was in no condition to tell anyone, anyway. The idea was very tempting, to taunt one of the favourite students of Albus Dumbledore. Perhaps dear Professor Hagrid could tell the old coot that Tom Riddle was still alive when they met in their precious hereafter.

He was about to step forward, but screams for help sounded in the distance. Tom peeked in the direction of the castle and saw two people rushing to Hagrid's aid. Flashes of green erupted from their wands and headed straight for the beast that still clung onto its creator.

_**Thump!**_

The ground shook when the Skrewt dumped the now completely blackened Hagrid on the grass, and it calmly returned to the Forbidden Forest, ignoring the curses that bounced off its armour. The two professors chased it with The Unforgivable, to no avail. Reaching Hagrid's barely identifiable body, they looked down in shock.

"He's still alive," Flitwick squeaked, noticing his ribcage rise and fall.

"Oh dear," Sprout muttered, horrified. "His belly, Filius, look at his belly." Professor Sprout referred to the gigantic hole at which Hagrid's intestines bulged out. They were ripped and obviously chewed upon. "I thought those horrible creatures had no mouth."

Flitwick didn't reply; he focused on his casting. His wand whooshed and flicked. He tried to levitate Hagrid, but his giant blood made it impossible.

"Warn Minerva that I can't move him. We need Poppy here with burn-healing paste," Filius said matter-of-factly, while starting on a complicated Healing Charm.

Pomona Sprout placed her wand against her temple. A silver thread clung to the tip of it as she moved it away from her mind. With a whisper and a flick of her wrist, it became a mandrake, which dove underneath the ground and left a trace of elevated soil behind (much like a mole's), as it sprinted toward the castle hurriedly.

"What can I do?"

"Don't you have any plants that could help heal this?" Flitwick inquired, wiping his forehead with his non-dominant arm in order not to stop casting.

"Normally, yes, but the greenhouses have been completely destroyed in the battle. I have no supplies left and Muckusflowers require three months to blossom before its juice can be harvested."

The panic was apparent in her voice, though she attempted to maintain a calm exterior.

"He doesn't have three months," Flitwick muttered, more sweat dripping down the side of his face.

"He doesn't have three hours," Tom told the shaking cup in his hand, satisfied.

Controlling the Skrewt hadn't been a real task. He could have done it with his eyes closed; so, he'd been able to give the Horcrux his main attention. And boy, was he having fun with that. It became easier and easier to take over Granger; of course, all the potions they fed her to "help" her weren't doing her any favours. But how could they know?

Something wet leaked over the palm of his hand. Surprised, he looked at his hand before he lifted the cup and noticed the rubies that decorated it were the cause of it. They leaked some crystal-clear fluid. Carefully, he raised his wand and performed an Identification Charm, wondering what Granger was up to this time. He glared at the results with disgust. Tears! They were tears. Ugh. She was crying over the oaf.

Oh Salazar, no, now she made that horrid noise as well.

But how could she? He had her under control. He could see it through her eyes, her delightful "discussion" with the silly little redhead that he had steered along.

Only now that meddlesome witch interfered. Oh well, no Calming Draught could keep him incapacitated. He had antidotes for those. All he had to do was drop them in the cup and he was good to go. He'd heard the nurse mentioning she was low on Painkiller Potions, and he knew who would bring those to the infirmary. He could hardly wait and he knew how he was going to go about it. He had to prevent himself from laughing out loud in order not to be detected by the morons still thinking they could rescue that huge waste of space.

"Shut up!" he hissed at the cup, as he stalked away—just in case Minnie got the insane idea to chase after the beastie and make it pay. It would be so her.

He clearly remembered how she had used every opportunity as a Head Girl to get on his nerves when he was back in his sixth-year, simply because he had refused to go to Hogsmeade with her. Not to mention the many times she had caused trouble to his Death Eaters during the first war—not that she knew that Lord Voldemort was the same boy she had fancied back in school, but it still caused him too much trouble.

_Revenge will be sweet_, he thought, the irritation he felt with Granger's tears very much alleviated.

No, a simple Avada just wouldn't cut it in his eyes. Minnie needed to learn some manners first.

He summoned his antidote potion and added three drops to the cup. Minnie would have to wait. Right now, he had a bigger nuisance to fry and no bezoar would save Sluggie.

xXx

_Tick, tock, tick, tock_ ...

Hermione stared at the clock that hung above the entrance of the infirmary, and she shifted her position yet again. Instead of numbers or Roman numerals, the clock displayed planets circling around a sun in the middle.

She groaned. Madam Pomfrey had forbidden her to read, so she had nothing to do but count the seconds. According to the nurse, reading would only cause Hermione's headache to come back. Therefore, although Hermione was very much annoyed with this restriction, she really didn't fancy another hour of head-splitting pains; so she complied with Madam Pomfrey's orders.

Her eyes landed on the bed next to hers, which was occupied by Ginny. George had wanted to transfer the redhead over to St. Mungo's last night, but the hospital was already overflowing with patients. All the Healers worked overtime due to the amount of people injured during the war. Additionally, he was not settling for second best—he wanted the best psychologist Healer there was for his sister.

Hermione understood how he felt. After Fred's death, George was even more determined to protect his family, let alone his only sister.

Suddenly, Ginny stirred in her bed. It seemed like she woke. With a barely noticeable shake of her body, she slowly opened her eyes.

"Ginny," Hermione breathed out in relief. The redhead turned her head, and not noticing the alarmed look flashing through Ginny's eyes, Hermione continued to say, "We were so worried about you. How are you feeling? Are you—"

"Stop pretending, Riddle," Ginny hissed, narrowing her eyes at Hermione. "I know what you're trying to do. You're not fooling me."

_Riddle? What? Why? Had Ginny lost it completely? _

Hermione looked behind her, just in case. Besides the other bedridden patients, nobody was there. With gaping wonderment, Hermione looked back at Ginny. The redhead was really glaring at her, _her!_ Hermione blinked, not knowing what to say back—she'd never been lost for words before. But she was too stunned to reply. Ginny's words made no sense to her.

"Oh, the innocent 'I have no idea what you mean' act," Ginny sneered. "I've seen it all; you don't fool me any—"

A soft cough from Madam Pomfrey's office made her stop her words. A few minutes later, however, she gazed back at Hermione again; her eyes filled with hatred, doubt, alarm, and fear. It took the brunette by surprise, and she still didn't know what to say.

"You're not tricking me anymore, and mark my words, I will find a way to destroy you once and for all, Riddle," Ginny whispered, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Hermione considered calling the nurse over. Something was obviously terribly wrong with Ginny, and she wanted to know what it was and get her the proper assistance. She also wanted this ridiculous conversation to stop. Hermione was about to say something to clear things up between them, to show Ginny she had her best interest at heart before calling out to Poppy Pomfrey, but the words that came out of her mouth were completely different from what she was thinking.

"Really?" she smiled and flipped over to her right side. She propped up her head with her hand. "When was the last time you've done something mildly impressive, Ginny? The Bat-Bogey Hex? Or how wonderful you were at," she snorted, "snogging Harry?"

Flames of anger flared up in Ginny's eyes, and she sat up in her bed.

"Let's see," Hermione said with a faux thinking look. "Who was the one who went with Harry on the hunt for the Horcruxes, while you were so cosily sleeping in your dorm here at Hogwarts? Who was the one who spent hours trying to find out who was the culprit behind the attacks back in your first year? Who was the one travelling back in time with him to rescue Buckbeak and _his Godfather_ Sirius Black? Who—"

"Don't you _dare_, Riddle. How dare you use Hermione's body like that? How dare you—"

Hermione laughed, causing Ginny to stop in her rant, because the laugh was so _unlike Hermione_.

"It's alright, Ginny. We know that you've been ... _traumatised_ by what happened with Riddle back in your first year," Hermione said patronizingly, her expression clearly one with enjoyment and a smirk pulling at the corners of her lips. "We understand how distressed you are, and we'll find the best psychologist Healer there is for you."

"RIDDLE!" Ginny growled, flinging her blankets away with one hand and grabbing her wand on the side table with the other. The other patients stirred in their beds, but did not seem to wake from their slumber.

Hermione winked at her, and quickly, placed an innocent look back on her face right before Madam Pomfrey rushed out of the nurse's office.

"Girls!" Madam Pomfrey hissed, disbelief written all over her face. Her head snapped towards Ginny, and her eyes widened. "Miss Weasley! You lower your wand this instant."

The redhead took no acknowledgement of her words. She still glared at Hermione, while her wandhand twitched, as if she was deciding on which hex to use on the girl in front of her.

"Miss Weasley, if you don't lower that wand right now, I will have to confiscate it," Madam Pomfrey threatened, striding forward and stopping right between the two girls with her arms widespread.

Behind Pomfrey's back, Hermione gave Ginny a small wave before lying back down on her bed.

"Madam Pomfrey, you have to believe me. It's Riddle. He's possessing her ..."

Hermione frowned, glancing between Madam Pomfrey and Ginny. What happened? Why was Madam Pomfrey standing in front of her bed as if she was shielding her from harm? Why did Ginny look so angry again?

"I know how you feel, Miss Weasley. Please do not worry," Madam Pomfrey soothed the girl, while she assisted Ginny to lie back down.

"You don't understand ..."

"Perhaps you would like some Dreamless Sleep Potion?" the nurse offered.

"No!" Ginny shook her head violently and sat back up again. "I don't want to sleep. Not with _**him**_ around."

She shot a look at Hermione, and Madam Pomfrey sighed.

"Fine," the mediwitch agreed, "but if I hear any signs of arguments, I _will_ give both of you a Calming Draught. No ifs, ands, or buts."

Reluctantly, Ginny nodded. Seconds later, the only sounds left in the room were the clock and the soft snores from the other patients. With more force than necessary, Ginny flipped over and buried herself into the blankets; her back turned towards Hermione. Seconds later, she flipped on her back again and stared the brunette from the corner of her eye, as if she was afraid that Hermione would suddenly attack her.

"Ginny ..." Hermione gathered up her courage and started to say.

Ginny turned her head and glared at her, like she dared her to continue speaking.

Hermione bit her lower lip and decided to say what was on her mind anyway. "I don't know why you think Riddle is possessing me, but ... it's not true. I'm not being—"

"_Stop_ acting, Riddle," Ginny cut in, rolling her hands up into fists. "I _know_ you. You're not tricking me again. And if that conversation from before wasn't proof enough ..."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, wondering how their previous conversation proved that she was being possessed.

"Ginny, we've never even finished our conversation. You were just speculating that I might've been possessed by Riddle back in the Chamber," she tried to explain to the girl. "I—"

"Stop it, stop it, stop it!" Ginny screamed, covering her ears with her hands.

The other occupants in the room woke up, startled, sitting up straight to see what happened.

"Wha's the mad'er?" a sixth-year Ravenclaw asked drowsily, two beds away from Hermione.

"That's enough!" Madam Pomfrey declared, marching up to Ginny and Hermione with two glasses in her hand. She placed one on the bedside table and handed one to Ginny. "You're disturbing the other patients."

"Madam Pomfrey ..." Ginny protested.

"No ifs, ands, or buts," the nurse reminded her firmly.

When Ginny opened her mouth to reason with her, she resolutely held the glass up to Ginny's mouth and forced it down her throat. After the last drop passed Ginny's lips, Madam Pomfrey turned towards Hermione.

"But I didn't raise my voice," Hermione complained.

"I will not have you two disturbing the rest of my patients. You will either drink the potion or I will feed it to you," Madam Pomfrey said.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, but she didn't know how to convince the woman in front of her. Realizing Hermione was not going to drink the potion on her own, Madam Pomfrey lifted the glass and poured the contents into her mouth.

"Have a good night's rest, Miss Granger," the nurse patted Hermione on the head after the glass was finally empty.

Seconds later, Hermione slowly got drowsy. Her eyelids felt heavier and heavier, and the last thing she saw before she fell back to sleep was McGonagall throwing the door of the infirmary open.

"Poppy, we need your help. Hagrid's been attacked by his Skrewt!"

Pomfrey started to run in McGonagall's direction, but the tartan wearing woman stopped her by holding up her hand. "You need to bring burn-healing paste. I was told he's in really bad shape."

So, Poppy swirled around and ran to her cupboard. "How much of his skin is burned?" she asked, picking two jars.

"All of it," Minerva said gravely.

Poppy let out a shocked cry and emptied the entire shelve. She tossed several jars to Minerva and tucked the rest of them in her arms. They paced out the infirmary in haste, Poppy following Minerva, not knowing their trip would be in vain.

xXx

Several hours later, a teary-eyed nurse entered the infirmary empty-handed to get the shock of a lifetime. In the middle of the infirmary, spread wide-eagled, lay Horace Slughorn, _**dead. **_His face was contorted in a hideous manner, and his eyes stayed wide in forever frozen panic, while his fist held onto a tuft of flaming red hair.

But the biggest shock the nurse got was from the ongoing event, a few feet away from Slughorn. There stood Ginny Weasley, a pillow in her hands, pressing it down in the face of Hermione Granger, _who, Poppy noted, wasn't moving. _

The nurse drew her wand. "_Stupefy!_"

While the stupefied Ginny fell on top of Hermione, Poppy ran to the girls and jerked Ginny (and her pillow) forcefully off Hermione. Quickly, she checked for a pulse.

"Please be alright, please be alright," Poppy muttered.

She'd never lost a patient in her infirmary before. And if Hermione was dead, it would be her fault for leaving her alone with the unstable Ginny Weasley.

_Please breathe, Miss Granger, come on now, breathe, _she wished desperately.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **We don't own anything from the world of Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. It's all hers. And we make no money by writing this.

**Authors' Note: **We thank you for reading and reviewing; Matterhorn, Lora, Patie, Mydia88, EasilyAmusedReader, MidnightThief15, Sweet-tang-honney, VinWin, The-Quiet-Girl.

Lora: Well, Harry is asleep elsewhere. I am sure Pomfrey kicked him out; her infirmary is full already. So, Harry had been there (see chapter 3). Don't forget, there hasn't been much elapsed time, yet - Slughorn and Hagrid die in the night after the morning of the "final" battle. And yes, Harry has superpowers; but even he can't continue to do without sleep, especially after they had already skipped some sleep prior to the "final" battle.  
As for Hermione noticing, well, you'll see. And there might be a bit more to her Horcrux than meets the eye, she didn't really create it herself after all. LOLs about the worried rant. Well, again, too spoiling... it's like giving out the clue of the end before the story really has started. Right? ;-)

**Warning: **With the upcoming sixth chapter, this story will go from a T-rating to M.

We couldn't find any reference to the colour of Firewhiskey, so we took the liberty to make it red. Red for fire. And as such making it distinctly different from any Muggle whiskey. The same goes for Slughorn's H.E.F. initials, so we made up the names for E (Errol) and F (Floyd). If anyone ever heard Jo saying what Slughorn's names are supposed to be, let us know and we will alter it.

Serp is on holiday (shame on her), so the next update may be a bit later, depending on whether or not there is internet available. No, we are not sad people with no life. We have Tom. ;-)

* * *

**The Gold Puppet**

**Chapter 5**

Humming softly to himself, Slughorn levitated a tray full of Painkiller Potions and strolled towards the infirmary. The tip of his wand lit up the path before him. He had to watch where he went since this part of the castle was filled with debris and had no more functioning candles on the wall. But he was an accomplished wizard, after all, and he could easily manage two tasks at once.

Despite the amount of deaths that had tolled up today, his main concern was getting the proper acknowledgement for his own deeds. He was greatly pleased by the large number of compliments he had been given for holding off You-Know-Who with Minerva and Kingsley—though if he said so himself, they had merely assisted him—he had done the bulk of the work, being the most powerful of the three, _naturally_. It had been obvious by the way You-Know-Who had focused his attacks primarily on Kingsley and Minerva that the man knew he stood no chance against him.

Yes, many students even looked up at him now, which really boosted his ego. He knew he had made the right decision by staying around to help defeat _**him**_.

Therefore, with a bounce in his steps, he steadied the tray before turning his wand towards the infirmary door. It appeared that the nurse was currently not in her office, since the identification ward was activated. It wasn't too abnormal. There were so many people injured during the final battle barely a day ago and Poppy was always very protective of her patients. With a flash of gold, indicating that the identity of the visitor was confirmed as allowed to enter, the ward opened slightly. It was just enough space for Slughorn to squeeze through, and immediately, it slid back into place after the professor entered the infirmary.

Most of the beds were occupied, and a quick glance around the room informed him that all the occupants were fast asleep.

_Excellent._ It meant that perhaps he could "borrow" some of the special ingredients from Poppy's cabinet.

Gently, he placed the tray on the table against the wall and tiptoed to the door of the nurse's office. He frowned ever so slightly when he realised Poppy had activated the wards to prevent people from stealing things from her office. These wards were created by the Founders and virtually impossible to break through. So, even if he would have had the time to lower each ward, he couldn't; only the school nurse and the Headmaster had the proper access to activate and deactivate the wards.

Cursing his luck in a low voice, he whirled around and was about to exit the infirmary when a voice stopped him.

"Good evening, Professor Slughorn," a young woman's voice greeted him.

He turned around and glanced about the room, searching for the source of the voice. A surprised expression appeared on his face when he saw it was Miss Granger. He'd thought she'd been just as deep asleep as the others. Apparently, the Founders' wards had saved him from being caught red-handed. It was his lucky night.

"Miss Granger, good evening," he smiled and strolled over to her bedside.

She had been one of his favourite students, after all, and she was really smart—excellent Potion brewer, too. He had to make sure she wouldn't forget her old professor in the future, because that girl would definitely go places, make something of herself, and obtain a really important job some day.

"I've heard what happened in the Head's Office. I do hope you are feeling better," he said, his voice laced with concern.

"Loads better, Professor," Hermione replied, returning his smile with one of her own. "I must say, you were truly courageous yesterday."

"Me?" Slughorn asked with a hearty laugh, clearly understanding where this conversation was leading towards.

To be praised by a member of the Golden Trio! If only there was someone around to bear witness to something so extremely impressive. His beady eyes darted around the infirmary, but the other patients had not woken. However, his disappointment was quickly forgotten when he saw the look Hermione sent him.

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, she would definitely not forget him. He had it made.

"Of course, Professor Slughorn. You were so brave, courageous ... and my, I never knew you had such wonderful duelling skills," the girl commented.

"You're too kind, Miss Granger," Slughorn beamed at her. "I was simply doing what I should do. After all, I am your professor, and I should be protecting my students."

"Certainly," Hermione nodded, lowering her eyes. "But not everyone could have done what you did, and most professors just stood by and watched. All of them were so ... afraid of _**him**_. But not _**you**_, Professor. You just jumped into the battle and duelled him. You were really brave, Professor." Affection and reverence dripped through her voice mildly as she addressed him, looking up at him with fondness plastered all over her face. "Perhaps we should toast to your fearlessness?"

Her eyes slid over to the side table and Slughorn's eyesight followed. His eyes visibly lit up when he found the bottle of liquor on her table, a bottle of one of Ogden's finest; 1783, it stated on the label. He felt the desire to obtain it pulse through his veins. That was a very good year, a very good year. It was almost impossible to get and priceless. For the sake of propriety, he objected, _not too firmly_, to what she was suggesting.

"Why, Miss Granger. You know that this is forbidd—"

"Yes, Professor, but Ron insisted it was okay, since the death of Lord Voldemort,"—her lips curved into a nearly undetectable smile and Slughorn's cheek twitched at hearing the name of You-Know-Who spoken so casually—, "does call for celebration. Harry got three of these bottles from Aberforth for his victory, and he passed one along to each of us for helping him. But I insist that you should drink most of it; since it was because of you, that we won the battle in the first place."

"Well ... I—I mean, Harry did do most of the work ..." Slughorn stuttered, though it was obvious from his face that he was flattered. And he did puff out his chest, giving off the signal he felt Hermione wasn't entirely mistaken.

"But Harry couldn't have possibly done all the work," Hermione argued. "If you hadn't helped, I doubt Harry could've stayed hidden for such a long period of time." She grinned at him. "He wouldn't have retained enough energy for the final duel with _**him**_."

"Well ... I ... I suppose ... Yes, I suppose so," he answered, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"So," she magicked a pair of glasses from the side table and the bottle of expensive liquor into the air before them and poured two glasses with equal amounts, "a toast to _**your **_victory, Professor." She handed one of the glasses to Slughorn.

He eyed the liquor for a few seconds before finally accepting it. "I suppose one glass can't hurt." He glanced at Hermione again. "You wouldn't ... I mean ..."

"Nobody needs to know what happened tonight, Professor, and I think you should keep the rest of the bottle."

She waved at the liquor standing on top of the side table. Slughorn's eyes, if possible, lit up even more. She tipped her glass towards him, "For your courageous act."

"And to your speedy recovery, Miss Granger," he added courteously, tipping his own glass towards her before downing it completely.

_**Clink**_.

The glass dropped to the floor and shattered as he staggered back and forth, his breathing a lot heavier than seconds before.

"That ... that ... that was ... was quite ... strong," Slughorn commented, placing a hand on his chest.

"Not really," Hermione retorted quietly, a smirk pulling at the corners of her lips. "I daresay it's not acting fast enough."

Baffled, he looked up, finally noticing something was off about the girl; her tone of voice, it was different from the way she normally spoke.

She swirled her untouched liquor around, watching the blood red waves linger against the glass before settling down again with the rest of the fluid.

"But you see, I do prefer chatting with you first," she told him, smirking.

Abruptly, she placed the Firewhiskey onto the side table, pulled back her blanket, and stepped into her slippers, while she drew her wand.

Slughorn took a few steps away from her.

No, there was definitely something wrong with her. She ... she didn't ... she didn't sound like Hermione Granger; she didn't act like Hermione Granger; she _**wasn't**_ Hermione Granger; she couldn't be. There was a formidable cloud of darkness hanging around her now. Although he had heard rumours how she had occasionally broken a few school rules with Mr. Potter, he had always seen her as a kind girl, definitely not someone with such a dark aura.

_Why had he not noticed this before?_

His stomach cramped and he clutched to it with both hands, trying to stay upright in order to keep a watchful eye on the girl.

"Being Head of Slytherin twice in your lifetime, I would've thought that you would know some of the basic characteristics of being a true Slytherin," she said, tapping her wand on her hand. "Do tell me, do you even recall why you were sorted into Slytherin?"

Sweat condensed on his forehead and ran down the side of his cheek, but he hardly cared; he kept his attention on Hermione, not knowing what she was going to do next. To Horace this conversation had drifted to surreal territory. A Gryffindor questioned him about proper Slytherin qualities?

His stomach knotted as fear swarmed in when he noticed how she twirled her wand between her fingers. Oh Merlin, no, that was impossible. It couldn't be...

His mouth turned dry and he reached for his wand to find it was no longer there. He stumbled back, eyes widening in terror.

"Need I remind you the traits?" she asked casually, ignoring the obvious realisation that had struck Slughorn. Slowly, she moved forward until she stood right in front of him. "I suppose that the only thing you have is ambition. And then, there is that pathetic, obvious for everyone to see, plotting you do to collect those more worthy than you into your corner. Do you think that counts even remotely as cunning?" she sneered. "Did you think that people would really look up to you if you duelled Lord Voldemort?" She circled around him. "Did you think that you could possibly defeat Lord Voldemort?" She stopped beside him and whispered in his ear, "Did you think that he was still that young, _innocent_," she sneered at the word,_ "_boy you taught fifty-three years ago?"

A horrified look passed through Slughorn's eyes as she confirmed his suspicions, and he whipped his head around to stare at Hermione Granger.

Her grin widened.

"Yesss," she hissed, "you thought you'd seen the end of Lord Voldemort, didn't you?"

Her eyes glinted with joy and she took a few steps backwards, observing how Horace's nose, ears and lips turned purple - the first stage of poisoning had set in.

"Or did you think I would be merciful to a fellow "_Slytherin_"?" Her lip curled in disgust as she spoke the word in relation to Horace. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out you told Potter I'd made seven Horcruxes?" she asked ever so quietly.

Slughorn turned whiter than the palest of ghosts.

"But perhaps I can be a merciful Lord?" she asked herself, tapping her chin and looking up at the ceiling in mock thought. "Perhaps I should give you a chance to save yourself?" she looked at Slughorn questioningly.

He didn't respond, but she saw the glimmer of hope dart through the foolish man's eyes.

"It's Poison of Athena's that's running through your veins," she explained. "Though a Professor of Potions should have deduced that by now." With a mocking look, she said, "Let us see if your Potions brewing skills have improved over the years."

With a flick of her wand, the drawer of the side table, where the poisonous liquor bottle still stood, opened, and numerous ingredients hovered directly to Slughorn. His eyes searched desperately among them for that one shrivelled, kidney-like stone, which Potter so smartly had used to rescue Ron.

"Oh no, we're not going to use a bezoar with you, Professor, since you are _The Potions_ _Master_," Hermione jeered. With another flick, a boiling kettle with a bubbling greyish turbid liquid in it appeared on the ground before him and the ingredients fell down next to it. "Aren't you going to thank me for giving you a head start? Only the last three bits of the antidote have to be added, and I've even measured the quantities of each ingredient for you."

Slughorn didn't stop to think, nor did he have the time to stop and think. His extremities began to sting and tingle. With Poison of Athena's, he knew this was not a good sign. He could only hope that Hermione, or rather, _**Tom**_ wasn't lying to him. Dropping to his knees, he tried to pick up the ingredients with his now trembling hands.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Hermione clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Such awful display of handling ingredients. Didn't you remember that mermaid's hair could only be magicked into the potion three seconds after the potion turned blue? Touching it beforehand would damage its magical properties."

With a violently shaking hand, Slughorn wiped away the sweat that was dripping into his eyes, only to cause some of the ingredients in his other hand to fall.

_The antidote to Poison of Athena's needed mermaid's hair, puffer-fish fins, and-and..._

He rumbled through the ingredients.

"I'd hurry if I were you," she reminded him, leaning against one of the beds occupied by a snoring patient. "If I'm not mistaken, you have only three minutes left." She started to laugh, a high, cold laugh that did not belong to her, that should not be coming from her.

He didn't remember. He couldn't recall what else he needed. His breathing turned heavy, and panicking, he dumped the two he had found in the boiling potion. It turned utterly orange, _not good._

"_Hermione_" leaned forward and glanced in the kettle mockingly. "That's no passing grade, _Professor_."

He wiped his forehead again, staring at what was left on the ground; pomegranate, beetle-juice, monkshood, runespoor eggs, and a lemon drop. He couldn't recall which one he needed. He swayed sideways, blinking with his eyes, trying to focus on what was in front of him.

"But silly me; the potion needs aconite, doesn't it, _Professor_?" her voice sounded like it came from a million miles away.

Slughorn stopped his search, and slowly, raised his head, until he stared at Hermione. She moved in and out of focus. His veins seemed almost ready to pop and had turned a sickening brownish colour.

"T-Tom ... pe-pe-please ..." Slughorn begged in a hoarse voice.

"Please?" Hermione questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Please?" She squatted down until she was at the same eye-level as Slughorn. "But you're such a _**brave**_ professor, a fighter for the Light side, the protector of _Potter_," she spat out the name. "And now you're asking for help from a person who wants the boy dead? You _**dare **_ask for Lord Voldemort's help, after you assisted others in their attempts to get me killed?"

She stood up straight, crossed her arms across her chest, leaned against the bed, and crossed her legs at her ankles. Slughorn had a hard time maintaining an upright position as his whole body shook.

"You're dead, Horace Errol Floyd Slughorn. I am going to stand here and enjoy the show, Professor. Take your time. I am in no hurry." Her laugh wrapped around him when he crashed to the floor on his back next to the useless boiling kettle.

"Poppy will find you later, and she's going to believe that you tried to break through the wards to steal her ingredients. They do have exact the same effect on a human body as Poison of Athena's." She smirked. "And isn't it deliciously ironic that it is just what you were previously planning to do, until you detected the wards? Poor, dear, misguided, Professor Horace Slughorn, the thief."

Again, she laughed, though this time, a lot softer.

"Goodnight, Professor," she said, her distant voice even softer than her laugh. "For forever."

She watched as the Potions Professor gasped for a breath of fresh air, but couldn't—his windpipes had constricted, making it impossible for air to enter his lungs. His fingers could no longer bend, and a look of horror appeared on his face, as he acknowledged that he was going to die.

"Send my regards to Dumbledore," she said offhandedly, "and tell him I'll take good care of Potter," —her head nodded sideways to the sleeping Ginny—, "and his _sweet_ little girlfriend."

Horace Slughorn barely heard the end of the sentence since his heart stopped and his body turned flaccid on the ground. Death had found him at last.

For a while, Hermione stared at the dead body with an utterly satisfied expression. Finally, she pushed her body away from the bed and vanquished all evidence of Slughorn's poisoning: the bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey, the glasses (broken and whole), the boiling kettle, and the Potion's ingredients.

When she was finished, she looked at Ginny Weasley and a diabolical plan came to life in her mind. What if she could make them all think, Ginny had played a part in his death?

A vile smirk graced her features, contorting them. How Molly Weasley would cry over her soon-to-be thoroughly insane daughter. Driving her only daughter insane, the one she had been wishing forever to get since she got married, would not only be a shocker to Potter, but also to that insipid family. Revenge would be sweet, indeed. After all, the mother hen had been the one who'd killed Bellatrix Lestrange, one of Lord Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters.

With a flick of her wand, she obtained a bit of Ginny's hair and planted it in Slughorn's fist. Sure, they would know it had been the wards that had killed him, but everyone would still wonder what the fiery, mental Weasley's role had been in his death.

Hermione swirled her wand above her head to undo the Never-Ending-Sleep condition every patient in the infirmary was currently in. Well, she couldn't have them wake up, while Slughorn was making a fool of himself, could she?

Then, she turned to Ginny, and a malevolent expression distorted her face. Oh, she would take care of Potter's girlfriend, alright. Casually, she strolled to the bed and stroked the girl's cheek with her index finger. The redhead remained asleep, still under the effects of the Calming Draught.

Yes, Ginny Weasley desperately needed all the help she could get, and as soon as possible, or things might spin out of control. A smile appeared on her face. The girl definitely needed the _best _psychologist Healer there was. For a moment, she immersed herself in silent laughter, until she noticed the time. Slowly, she returned to her bed and lay down, waiting for the magical signs that Poppy Pomfrey took down the ancient wards around the infirmary.

When she saw the first indication, she flashed her wand at the sleeping girl. "_Imperio_!"

While Hermione kept her wand hidden underneath her sheets, Ginny jumped out of bed and grabbed her pillow. Hermione smiled when she felt the pillow push in her face. The Imperius Curse was a hard one to battle, especially when the order given was something you actually wanted to do for real yourself. Besides, when you didn't see the curse coming at you, because you were sleeping, it was practically impossible to beat it.

Hermione smirked in the pillow when she heard the nurse call out, _"Stupefy_!"

She, quickly, hid her wand in her sleeve and faked unconsciousness, while Madam Pomfrey panicked.

_This had been a wonderful productive night,_ she thought before letting out a cough and gasping for air to assure the nurse she was fine.

xXx

Ginny Weasley was taken to St. Mungo's closed ward short thereafter, despite that George's Healer of choice had not arrived from the States, yet. But Ginny had been deemed too dangerous to others to remain at the school's open infirmary. Several Weasleys had apologised to Hermione repeatedly, who had waved their apologies away with simple variations of "take good care of her, I am fine; there is nothing wrong with me."

Harry had offered them Twelve Grimmauld Place again, so they could stay close by Ginny, and they had accepted and left. Torn between his girlfriend and his best friend, Harry had stayed with Hermione. Since Ron had gone to London with the others, Harry didn't want her to be left alone after nearly being killed. He'd been horrified to hear what had occurred, and despite Hermione's reassurances it wasn't his fault, he still felt responsible and sat beside her bed for the rest of her stay in the infirmary. They both wondered what had occurred between Professor Slughorn and Ginny, and often speculated about it. But an answer was not given.

Although Harry tried his best to hide it (after spending nearly five hours locked up in the Gryffindor boys' dorm crying), everyone could tell that he was very shocked and depressed about Hagrid's death. It certainly placed a damper on all celebrations of Lord Voldemort's death, since Harry turned down all invitations to parties and interviews.

Grawp was nowhere to be found, although Hermione had a hunch that the giant was hiding inside the Forbidden Forest. Hermione herself, of course, suffered no less than Harry from the death of their half-giant friend, and she, too, tried to hide her sorrow behind half-hearted smiles. After all, she didn't want Harry to worry about her, too.

xXx

A thousand miles away, on a black lacquer dresser, a gold cup wobbled on its feet, trying furiously to tip over to dislodge the Imperius Potion inside that gave him control over her mind and body. She'd noticed that the more control he gained over her other self, the less he had over her cup-identity. But she had kept it hidden from him, playing the obedient, imperiused Horcrux, while waiting for the opportune moment. But he was always around. Just when she thought he'd never leave, he did.

He'd been clad in a Healer lime green uniform, which was about three sizes too wide and several inches too short at his arms and legs. But when he took Polyjuice Potion, she realised why. He'd smirked at her and had caressed the cup with his now stubby finger teasingly. A shiver had run through her due to their contact, and she'd felt disgusted with herself for even slightly enjoying the touch. Something was definitely wrong with her. And that was either Hufflepuff's fault or his, _definitely not hers._

"Any message you wish me to deliver to your poor, little, helpless, freckled friend, Hermione?" he had drawled tauntingly.

"Yes," she had hissed back when she'd realised who he meant by that and what he was going to do to Ginny. "Tell her she has my blessing to kill you."

His cold, mirthless laugh had rolled around her. "I'll deliver the message," he had said before walking out the door.

A furious growl came from the cup, as she remembered all his deeds so far. How dare he use her like that? How dare he put Ginny in that position? And poor, dear Hagrid ... she felt like crying again, remembering how he was murdered by Tom Riddle.

Her sideway swing turned dangerously far. A bit of the potion inside sloshed over the rim. For a brief second, the golden cup balanced on a small part of the edge of its feet. Then, the potion swirled back in the other direction violently, following gravity and taking the cup with it. Hermione let out a triumphant cheer when she felt the cup tilt over completely at the other side. It crashed down on the dresser's surface, spilling the potion fully, as it rolled to the edge of the dresser and smashed down on the soft woollen carpet floor.

Her vengeful laughter vibrated through the living room.

"Good luck, Riddle. You're going to need it."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Authors' Note: **We thank you all for reading and reviewing; EasilyAmusedReader, Susannajulia, Redbird27, Elspethe, Sweet-tang-honney, Patie, Lora, Matterhorn, Belove, MidnightEclipse93, Spirit of the Gauntlets, BlueSkyHeaven, Cosettex, FA-AL, ArtemisMoon87, VinWin, MidnightThief15.

Elspethe: Well, yes, she was. Now, you will see how her stunt turns out. Thank you for the nice compliment and for reviewing.

Belove:The potion in the cup was called the Imperius Potion, as in the Imperius Curse, so it keeps someone under control like the Imperius Curse would (only it's a bit more powerful). Tom used it, because he thought he could keep the cup alone then without any problems arising. Oopsi. And no, when Tom possesses Hermione's body, she doesn't remember it - just like Ginny couldn't remember it either in HP&CoS. She will get gaps in her memory, but seeing she was asleep while Slughorn died, that won't be an issue then. Thanks for reviewing.

Lora:You hit the nail right on the head. Tom would definitely tell Ginny verbatim what Hermione said, not that it will help Ginny much. *sniggers* And you'll see precisely in this chapter what will happen to the RL Hermione now the cup has dumped the potion. *grins* I hope you will enjoy the chapter. Thanks once again for reviewing. XD

**Warning: **non-consent Tomione smut up ahead (not too graphic but still), hence the rating-change to M.

Spells were created using an online English to Latin dictionary with our little twist to it, to make it sound like a real spell, so please excuse our limited knowledge of Latin.

* * *

**The Gold Puppet**

**Chapter Six**

They'd all had breakfast together, but the Weasleys had left to meet with Ginny's new Healer. Hermione and Harry sat across the table from each other, drinking their coffee silently. Ron'd had another fit when he'd realised, they weren't going and would stay behind together again. Hermione felt it was really unfair. It wasn't like it would do Ginny any good to see her, so she couldn't go. And Harry had another meeting with Kingsley in an hour to talk about him starting at the Auror Academy this year. Besides, the staff at St. Mungo's had explicitly said that only immediate next of kin was allowed to come. They were neither.

_Stupid git_, Hermione thought angrily, as she placed her coffee cup back onto the saucer with more force than necessary and leaned back in her chair.

The redhead constantly had mood swings these days whenever Hermione disagreed with him, even if it was about minor things. From the food she had for breakfast to what she wore ... it was almost as if he tried to control her life for her. As much as she hated to say so, she became rather annoyed with the unwelcome critiques. And guiltily, she had thought more than once that Ron was turning too much into a male Mrs. Weasley, which was not a good sign in her books.

And then, there had been the time when he had accused her of not wanting to kiss him. Or if she perhaps preferred Harry since she always was with him lately. It had been an entire rant of all kinds of things that she'd done wrong, some of which she'd had absolutely no idea of what he was talking about. His irrationality became utterly irritating and began to drive a wedge between the two former "lovers".

"Do Master and Mistress need anything else?" Kreacher croaked happily, after he was done clearing the table.

Harry shook his head and the house-elf turned to Hermione, who smiled, held up her cup of coffee, and said, "I am good."

Suddenly, she felt strange, dizzy, and nauseous. She put the cup down in haste and grabbed a hold of the edge of the table.

"Mistress?" Kreacher asked, concerned.

"Hermione?" Harry added, taking her hand from across the table.

"Something is ... wrong," she spoke between laboured breaths; her hand clutched to her chest, "very wrong."

She closed her eyes. The world swirled around her. It was almost similar to the feeling one got when Apparating, but magnified tenfold. She swore she felt the pancake she'd just had for breakfast lurch in her stomach.

Kreacher clicked his fingers and a bucket appeared next to Hermione on the floor. "In case Mistress needs it," he explained, watching Hermione's green complexion.

She opened her eyes and shot the house-elf a look of thanks before closing them again, her breathing still shallow.

Harry had moved around the table and looked down at her, his hand on her back for support. "Can we help?"

"I don't know. I am missing something." She shook her head. "Something important. But I can't tell myself—I can't tell myself," she panicked, slapping her hand on her chest hard. "I have to tell myself. Why can't I tell myself?"

An expression of agony appeared on her face while she groaned, alarming Harry. Something was already wrong with Ginny; he hoped that nothing similar would happen to Hermione. He couldn't bear the thought of losing yet another friend. The ones he'd lost during and after the war were more than enough.

He had thought that everything would be over with the death of Lord Voldemort and the end of the war, but things seemed to just happen to everyone around him. Trouble was constantly knocking on his doorstep. It seemed all his friends had waited for Voldemort's death to have nervous breakdowns. Even Ron was being impossible. Harry'd told him over and over again, he had no such feelings for Hermione; but the way Ron spoke to them whenever he saw them together... Harry felt like punching him in the nose at times, as Hermione had once done to Draco Malfoy.

Hermione moved her hand to her forehead, slapping it hard with her palm, trying to get her mind to cooperate and tell her what she needed to know.

"Hermione, Hermione!" Harry yelled distraught; he grabbed her hands to stop her from hitting herself. "Calm down."

"Ginny. Something is wrong with Ginny," Hermione cried out, looking up into Harry's face desperately.

"Yes, we know," Harry replied. "She's getting help, remember?"

"No, no, he's not help," Hermione muttered. Abruptly, she flew to her feet. "We need to go to St. Mungo's, Harry. That Healer is not good for her. We need to go immediately."

"But—" Harry started; however, it was no use.

Hermione was already on her feet and headed for the door. He heard her ruffling in the hallway and realised she put on her coat. Harry rubbed his forehead. He knew Hermione hadn't taken it so lightly that Ginny had tried to kill her. She put on a brave face for the others, but inside, he knew it had hurt her deeply. And now this... it was bound to end badly for all parties concerned.

A mass of bushy brown hair peeked around the doorframe. "Let's go, Harry," she demanded bossily.

Harry sighed. It appeared he had no choice. He knew Hermione wouldn't take no for an answer, so he grabbed his coat and Apparated along with her.

They arrived at the Apparition room in the hospital, registered with the welcome witch, and were soon at the floor where the closed ward was located. They walked up the nurse behind the counter and inquired about the room where Ginny stayed in.

"I am sorry," the ward's nurse told them, "but Ginny just went back to bed. She and her family had a long talk with Healer Lewis, and I am sure they can fill you in on all the details. I really am not at liberty to discuss these matters with outsiders." She looked at Harry (the hero of the hour) apologetically, while ignoring the angry Hermione completely.

"We are _**not**_ outsiders," Hermione hissed, slamming her fist on the counter. "We are her best friends and we—"

"Lorraine, is something wrong?" a male voice drawled behind her.

Hermione and Harry turned their head and saw a medium height, fat-bellied Healer with short scruffy grey hair standing there.

"These people are here about Miss Weasley," nurse Lorraine explained. "I was just telling them we only give out information to next of kin, Healer Lewis."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the Healer upon realising he was the one she'd come here for in a hurry. Now, that she saw him, she felt a bit silly about her previous thoughts. He didn't seem threatening at all. But perhaps she had read something about him somewhere? Maybe he had screwed up other patients?

That was impossible. George swore he would find the best psychologist Healer. If this Healer Lewis messed up with his other patients, fat chance the Weasleys would've allowed him near Ginny.

Then, why did she feel the need to come all the way here to St. Mungo's in the first place? Besides, she wasn't a Seer—she mentally snorted—so why did she get that feeling that there was something wrong with him?

Another wave of nauseousness hit her and she bit her lip, trying to prevent her stomach from turning.

"Ah, I see," Healer Lewis said to Lorraine before his blue eyes darted between Hermione and Harry curiously. "So you're here to see Ginny, aren't you? I'm afraid that she's asleep right now and can't see visitors. I understand that you're concerned with her, but as her Healer, I must insist that you allow her to rest."

An amiable smile appeared on his face, and Hermione frowned. He seemed perfectly fine to her.

An even stronger wave of nauseousness hit her, and she closed her eyes, clearly feeling the acid in her stomach travel up and down her oesophagus. It was almost like her body tried to tell her something, because she would feel fine one moment and the next she'd feel as sick as a dog.

Healer Lewis's gaze lingered on Hermione briefly, and he stepped forward. "Are you feeling alright, Miss?"

_"It's him," _she heard herself say. _"Watch out. You're in danger."_

Confusion filled her mind and she looked down. Did she just hear herself talk? She finally got rid of Riddle's voice in her head, and now, she heard herself?

A hand landed on her shoulder, and she looked up into the Healer's intense blue-eyed gaze. Suddenly, she felt like an idiot for coming here. His touch made her feel safe and comforted, not even remotely threatened at all.

"I understand it must have been hard on you," he told Hermione in a soothing voice. "Why don't you come into my office?" he offered, extending his hand to a door not too far away. "I am sure we have loads to talk about."

Without thinking, Hermione nodded. It felt so ... _right_ listening to him.

"But—" the nurse started to object, glancing at the Healer's full schedule.

"I am sure we can make an exception to the rule for these fine young people, Lorraine," Healer Lewis interrupted. "They are not gawkers or from the press. Everyone knows who they are. Besides, I would have to talk to you both about Miss Weasley anyway," he added, addressing Harry and Hermione again.

He guided Hermione down the hall with his hand on her back, while Harry followed shortly behind them.

"Watch out!" a woman's voice cried out.

Hermione and Healer Lewis turned around just in time to see one of the portraits, which previously hung on the wall, crash down on Harry, knocking him out. He remained still, a pool of blood slowly forming around where his head was. The occupant of the painting, an old wizard Healer in orange robes, had fled to the neighbouring painting of "The Lady with the Lamp" and stood there panting, clutching his framed credentials and multiple awards to his chest protectively.

"Harry!" Hermione screamed and was about to move forward. A wave of dizziness caused her to nearly fall backwards, but Healer Lewis steadied her by her shoulders.

"_No_!" her voice shouted in her mind. "_Forget Harry. Behind you, focus on what's behind you!_"

"Lorraine, please inform Healer Amesbury that we have an injured visitor," Lewis said calmly, gazing at Hermione, while helping her remain upright, "I'll take care of Miss Granger here."

"Right," nurse Lorraine nodded, her face pale, thoroughly confused in regards to why and _how_ the portrait had fallen down.

With shaking hands, nurse Lorraine managed to levitate the portrait off of Harry's head, and she bandaged the visible wounds. But each portrait was preserved by protection charms; what if Harry Potter—The Chosen One—was injured beyond repair while he was inside their hospital, on her watch? That would be horrible.

Hermione was about to move towards Harry, despite whatever nonsense her mind tried to sell her, but she was stopped by Healer Lewis again.

"This way, please, Miss Granger," he said, turning her around. "Someone will take care of Mr. Potter."

"You ... know ... who I am," Hermione wheezed out.

The feeling of sickness washed over her once again, as she looked up to the Healer's face. Up close she saw he had a pitted complexion.

"_Look, listen!_" the voice in her mind cried out with an overflow of frustration, as if it wanted to say more but somehow was unable to.

"Of course," Healer Lewis replied. His lips curved into a smile. "Who wouldn't know who you are? After all, you _are_ Mr. Potter's best friend, and he was the one who ... _vanquished_ He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

She must be very ill; she thought she heard mocking undertones in the friendly Healer's voice. It was impossible.

A growl, sounding very much like her own, resonated in her mind. Why she suddenly felt the need to hit her head against the wall, she had no idea.

"This way, please," Healer Lewis told her, holding the door to his office open for her. The door closed with a click behind her, and he indicated to the chair in front of the table with his hand, "Have a seat."

Without suspecting anything, she sat down, although he remained standing. She never noticed him flicking his wand casually at the door behind her back, warding it against people who might try to enter. Neither did she witness the Silencing Charm he placed on the whole room nor that his hair was slowly changing to a darker colour; her mind was still stuffy from the horrid symptoms she felt.

"This was ... _surprising_. I never expected to see you here," he said.

Maybe Ginny's illness was contagious in some way? Her imaginations were getting worse and worse: they made her think that Healer Lewis's voice was changing—was he speaking the Queen's English when they first spoke to him?

"Well ... I ... Ginny's my friend ... and Harry's her boyfriend," she explained, closing her eyes and attempting to fight off the dizzy feeling when her voice in her mind basically ordered her to keep them open.

"But you weren't here simply to visit her, were you?" he questioned, his voice coming directly above her.

His hands came to a rest on her shoulders, and she felt a shiver go down her spine. She mentally frowned at herself: what was she thinking?

Definitely the wrong reaction to a simple move.

"No ... I ..." She bit her lower lip, knowing how rude she would sound if she told him why she came to St. Mungo's to check on Ginny.

"You were worried about my expertise?" he asked, sounding amused, while he squeezed her shoulders.

"Maybe," she murmured, feeling embarrassed.

"_Oh, Hermione, my, what an idiot am I_," she heard herself grumble; and she closed her eyes, wishing she could drown out the voices.

He laughed and leaned forward. "I promise I'll do my best to help Ginny," he told her; his breath tingled along her cheek and neck, for his face was right next to hers, and his dark eyes glinted all too cheerfully when she shuddered.

_"Open your eyes! Open your eyes! Use your mind! You know that voice! __**LOOK**_ _AT HIM!"_

Her voice screamed in her mind, and she complied. With a startle, she realised that she wasn't looking into the face of Healer Lewis. She felt like someone dropped giant blocks of ice into her stomach, as she stared into a face she had heard described to her for so many times. She jerked her shoulders from his grasp, scrambled sideways out of the chair, nearly falling down in the process, and pulled out her wand.

"_Nervus_ _Puterum!_"

He did it on purpose. She knew he must have, from the way he'd smirked at her to the way he'd said the words to the incantation slower than his wand movements. He'd cast the spell on her non-verbally, but he'd also wanted to let her know why she could no longer move—he was taunting her deliberately by questioning her ability to recognise a jinx cast non-verbally. The jinx caused most of her muscles to become flaccid (as she bloody well knew and would have known without him handing her condescending clues, thank you very much) and she fell forward, unable to do anything about it or even break her fall with her arms.

He caught her in his arms, while her wand rolled away under the desk. "Going somewhere?" he mocked, circling her waist with one arm and pulling her flush against his body.

He flicked his wand at her face, ceasing the spell there so she could speak, before he put his wand away.

"You sick bastard, let go of me!" she growled.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Manners, Granger," Tom shook his head. "How many times must I remind you?"

Confusion flashed through her eyes, causing him to smile despite his previous irritation at finding her and Potter at St. Mungo's. Apparently, she still didn't remember. He wondered how she'd figured out there was something wrong with Healer Lewis then, because obviously her Horcrux hadn't been communicating with her about his existence.

She glared at him furiously. "You despicable, hypocritical bigot. Why don't you just remain _dead_ for once?"

"Now, now, Hermione. That's not how you speak to your superiors," he taunted. The jeering look in his eyes was replaced by harshness. "How did you find out?"

"That you're a biased, idiotic, butt-faced wanker? Anyone with half a brain would've—"

His eyes slightly narrowed, and he grabbed her face with his free hand and squeezed it harshly, stopping her with her words.

"You're trying my patience, Granger," he warned quietly. "And I'm not putting up with your nonsense any longer. _Legilimens!_"

Moments later, he left her mind. Cold fury etched on his face, realising that the stupid little Horcrux must have done something to the Imperius Potion he had placed in the cup. He should've remembered to prevent it from moving, but he had thought the potion would do just that. Apparently, he was ... _mistaken_, much to his disgust. He'd never seen anyone free their minds while being under the influence of the Imperius Potion; it was ten times stronger than the curse itself, and in Hufflepuff's cup, its qualities were further magnified. But, it seemed, there was a first time for everything, since obviously, Granger's Horcrux had broken free.

He glanced down at the girl in his arms, hating her just as much as he hated her troublesome Horcrux. If she hadn't been so useful in getting rid of his enemies, he would've killed her within the first minute, _no_, second his eyes landed on her.

His fingers dug even deeper into her skin, and she let out a muffled cry. He liked the sound of that. And he did have her here now, helpless in his arms. He could toy with her a bit, make her see who was in charge, who was her master. He liked the idea of that even more. And he did have some time now, unlike before in the Chamber.

Malevolently, he looked down at her. A broad smile spread on his face, causing her to watch him worrisome. Anything that made him happy couldn't possibly be good news for her. Hermione's eyes widened when his hand (instead of squeezing her jawbones to pulp) stroked her face in a slow deliberate move. She held her breath. What on mother's green earth was going on?

His hand disappeared into her hair, while the arm he had around her waist tightened, pressing her even harder into his body. His face moved to hers.

"What. Do. You. Think. You. Are. Doing?" she hissed through gritted teeth with deliberate pauses between each word.

For a brief moment, he stopped moving his face to hers, grinning. "Showing you what your kind is good for, Mudblood."

He captured her lips in a bruising kiss. There was nothing she could do. The back of her head was in his hand. His arm trapped her body against his. Her limbs were completely flaccid; the only muscles she could use where her facial muscles, and she needed those to keep her mouth firmly closed. A startled cry left her tight-lipped mouth when he yanked her head back forcefully by her hair.

Well, at least his revolting mouth was no longer on hers. That was a huge improvement.

That was what she thought, until she felt his tongue slither over her neck.

_Oh yuck, disgusting pervert._

She clenched her teeth together to keep her mouth from spilling out all kinds of things that would undoubtedly not improve her situation. When his tongue crossed a sensitive spot at the side of her neck, it felt like a shock travelled through her system. If she could have moved, (and now she was thankful she couldn't), she'd have shuddered in his arms from the tingling sensation in her nerves. She was revolted with herself when Goosebumps erupted on her skin as he nibbled gently on her ear.

She glared at him, her face flushed red from anger and humiliation.

"You will follow my lead, _dear,_" he snarled in her ear, and he walked her backward into the desk, so he wouldn't have to carry her full weight anymore as he placed her on the rim, quickly pressing his legs between hers. "When I kiss you, you will reply in kind," he ordered ever so softly.

His wand flashed; tension returned to her muscles, but she was still held immobile—half sitting, half hanging on the edge of the desk, securely held against his chest. "If you do not... _**comply**_," he trailed off ever so threateningly, while his hand moved underneath her shirt at her back. "I will find other ways to ... _**indulge**_ myself." His fingers grazed along the hem of her pants as a clear warning signal.

Fear and fury overtook every sane thought inside Hermione's mind.

He tilted her head slightly, and his mouth found hers again. She felt his tongue demanding access. So ... she bit him, _**hard**_.

With extreme satisfaction, she tasted his blood in her mouth before he yanked her head away from him. Triumph flew through her eyes when she noticed, he'd even taken a small step back and was trembling slightly.

"_There, take that, Voldemort,"_ her voice in her mind sniggered, satisfied.

But her elation lessened when she saw the look in his dark eyes. The cold, detached darkness had been replaced for something altogether different; something feral peeked out; something so dangerous there were no words to describe it. And he stared at her with that intense, predatory gaze, like he considered devouring her whole. She felt herself grow cold to the marrow of her bones when she realised, she'd just made the biggest mistake of a lifetime. Of all the things she could have chosen to do, biting him had been the worst idea imaginable.

It excited him.

Knowing her wand was underneath the desk she sat on and she'd never get to it in time, she sat there, still, watching him breathe heavily. Her mind raced over any possible solutions to her predicament, but she had no idea what he planned to do next, so it was a useless endeavour. She came up with squat, zip, zilch.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ she scolded herself, biting her lip.

She must have blinked, because his wand was suddenly in his hand; his eyes flashed red as he shoved her forcefully over the desk. She cried out in shock and pain as she first tumbled into the revolving chair behind it, and then, onto the hard, hospital flooring. A sickening crack reached her ears when her left shoulder dislocated upon the impact. Her yowl resonated through the Healer's office, and she clutched to her upper arm with her right hand before she realised that she could move again.

Hermione heard his footsteps approach her position when her eyes fell on her walnut wand. She didn't have to think twice and reached for it, knowing how much it would hurt to move, but also realising it would hurt a hell of a lot more when he got to her. Her fingers curled around the stick when she got yanked up by her left arm. Tears sprung to her eyes, and she couldn't stop herself from letting out a howl in severe agony. Despite the wand in her hand, her mind could do nothing but fixate on the immense pain, as he tossed her in the chair behind the desk, yanked her wand from her grip and raised his at her face. Sobbing, she gripped her left arm again, which hung limply to her side. Her whole body shook.

But it wasn't just her. His wandhand trembled ever so slightly. She could see it in his eyes, her death. And right now, she'd welcome it - anything to stop the sharp pain in her shoulder. They stared at each other, as she wept over the pain she felt.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally moved; Hermione braced herself for the familiar, sinister green flash and was surprised when he did the unthinkable.

His wand moved from her face to her shoulder, and he chanted in a sing-song voice, swooshing his wand over the area. The pain disappeared instantly. Stunned, Hermione looked at him, while he continued casting. With a pop, her shoulder relocated itself.

She stared at him, lost with words and disbelief clearly written on her face. She had thought that he would kill her or torture her at least, but his actions confused her. She continued looking at his profile, for he had slightly turned his body after he had healed her. She wondered if he had an ulterior motive.

_Well, duh, of course he does! He's Lord Voldemort_, she thought. At least she wasn't hearing her own voice anymore.

He remained silent, his eyebrows furrowed as if he was having a hard time comprehending something. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Before she could take any action, however, he opened them again. As quick as lightning, he turned towards her and pointed his wand at her.

"_Veritasomnia Muto!_"

Still breathing slightly heavier than usual, he watched as the Mudblood sank to floor, her eyes closed in a seemingly peaceful slumber. His hand tightened around his wand, holding onto it with more force than necessary. He was enraged. This was not supposed to happen_. He_ was the one who was supposed to be in charge; _he_ was the one who was supposed to decide what was going to happen next. How dare that irritating, filthy, disgusting little wench bite him? How dare she get to him like that?

He took another deep breath before allowing a small smirk to appear. Did she think that this was the end? Did she think she'd won? No, he would show her what it meant to be truly terrified, to be truly shaken.

He chuckled; his mood improved tremendously, as a plan formed inside his mind.

The dark spell he was going to cast would distort reality and dreams. When she woke up, what had happened would be buried into her subconscious. The memory would still be there, but she would be unable to access it without him. Moving the memory caused a gap in her mind, which the brain wanted to fill. The second part of the spell did just that; it distorted reality. The illusion he was going to create for her with this spell—which was needless to say, illegal, and would earn the user at least three one-way tickets to Azkaban—was going to be the "reality" for her. Even if someone tried to use Legilimency on her, they would only see what he was going to place in her mind. He would create a feasible reason for her "overreaction" this morning and something a tad more ... _**entertaining.**_

Oh no. He was not going to let the little chit completely forget what happened by using the Memory Charm. No, her Horcrux would remember quite well what had happened. And should he ever need the Hermione in front of him to remember ...

He laughed softly again and squatted down next to her. He ran his wand up her cheek before bringing it up to her temple. Then, he leaned forward until his face was next to hers again.

"_Frausia!_"

He whispered into her ears, and he began to paint the illusion to her with his words. Her eyelashes fluttered as he spoke to her, letting him know that the vision entered her mind and would soon be considered "reality".

When he was finally done, his lips curved into a wicked smile, and he stood up. He flicked his wand and Hermione floated through the air, landing gently into the chair in front of the desk. With a quick snap of his fingers, a bottle and a glass from one of the cabinets flew over and landed neatly on his desk. He watched her breathing slow down to its regular pace, and quickly, he added a bit of hair to the glass of Polyjuice Potion he had poured out. She stirred when the last drop of liquid entered his mouth.

And when she finally opened her eyes again, she found herself staring into the benign, blue eyes of Healer Lewis.

xXx

Apologetically, Hermione looked at Harry, and more so, at the huge bandage covering his head, while she twisted her hands restlessly. Apparently, the wounds caused by the protective wards of the portrait could not be healed by a simple "_Episkey"_. She'd sat down in the chair next to the hospital bed he sat in. Harry hadn't gone needy for pillows, because a huge pile was positioned behind his back.

"So..." he recounted slowly, "I got a hole in my head and missed my important meeting with Kingsley, because you forgot you'd read an article about an incident involving one of his patients going berserk and creating a massacre at Healer Lewis's private clinic."

He folded his arms over each other and gave her a stern look, but he could barely keep up the act. Inside of himself, he laughed with joy. This was so Hermione.

"Ermmm... yes, I thought it was his fault, the article said so," she replied quietly, rubbing her neck.

She lowered her head, guilt weighing heavily down on her. Now, she knew the truth. Healer Lewis had been indisposed at the time of the incident. He'd been lying in a magical hospital for three months suffering from a rare form of wizarding cancer, which he still required treatment for. The man had gone to his clinic, despite his own illness, and been able to prevent the situation from escalating beyond the walls of the institution. He'd been a hero, not the slacking charlatan the article had made him out to be. She should have known the Prophet had it wrong. It always printed rubbish.

Due to her quiet introspection, she missed the amusement on Harry's face. "Great, just great. If Lord Voldemort doesn't get me, a painting will," Harry joked.

"Yeah," Hermione said timidly, "I am so sorry. I—I didn't—"

Harry's laughter broke off her apology. It bounced off the walls and was very contagious. Hermione slapped him on his arm.

"You," she said laughing, too. But she stopped laughing when he clutched to his head with one hand. "Does it still hurt?" she asked, taking his other hand in hers.

"Only when I laugh," he grinned.

"I'll try not to—"

The door flew open and in stepped Ron Weasley. The worried look on his face got quickly replaced with a scowl when he saw them holding hands.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked with a sneer when Hermione and Harry unclasped their joined hands as if stung by a bee. "Don't bother stopping on my account," he added, while the green monster of jealousy reared its ugly head.

"Harry got hurt," Hermione explained. Irritation from this morning returned with a vengeance. Why did he always have to be so inconsiderate? "I was just trying to comfort him."

"Yeah, he looks _reeeal_ comfortable," Ron replied, stretching out the vowel and disregarding the frowns that formed on both Hermione and Harry's faces.

Hermione rose from her chair and placed her hands in her sides. "Will you stop being an idiot and think of another for a change," she said, raising her voice slightly.

"Oh, so now I am an idiot!" Ron shouted.

A hand tapped on his shoulder, and Ron swirled around in fury, planning to spill his guts to whoever was there. His mouth was halfway open when he snapped it back shut with a snap. To his surprise, his sister's Healer stood there, eyeing the room and everyone in it in a swift glance. Ron found the man slightly intimidating with the sharp look in his eyes.

"Let's try to keep our voices at a normal volume, shall we?" Healer Lewis said sternly, fixing his eyes on Ron, who gulped nervously. "This is a hospital." Not waiting for Ron's reply, he turned to Harry. "I called Healer Amesbury away from his E.R. duties. He'll be here in a sec to heal that wound, so you can go home."

"Thanks," Harry replied with a relieved sigh.

"No thanks necessary," Lewis said with a sly smile. He lowered his glance, examining his dark oak wand. "I wouldn't want to hang around here anymore than you do. And considering it is partly my fault you got hurt since I insisted you'd follow me, I figured I owed you one." He looked up again and gave Harry a benevolent smile.

"We're even," Harry replied when what must be Healer Amesbury wriggled himself past Ron and Lewis and walked to him—wand in hand.

"Good," Lewis replied. "I do want to talk to you someday soon about Miss Weasley though."

"For Ginny, any day," Harry said, squeezing his eyes together when Amesbury removed a piece of bandage that was stuck in the wound rather abruptly.

"Wonderful," Healer Lewis said cheerfully. "Aidan, I'll see you tomorrow."

Aidan Amesbury mumbled his goodbyes between his teeth, while his wand circled above Harry's head.

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter_, Hermione_," Lewis said meaningfully, making her turn red in the face and avert her eyes. "It was nice to meet you all, until next time."

He left the room before any of them could reply.

Ron turned to Hermione. _Hermione_, he mimicked sarcastically with his mouth, while he imitated Healer Lewis's stance and intimate expression.

She threw her hands in the air in surrender and sat back down in the chair, shaking her head over so much stupidity.

"There, all done," Aidan Amesbury said, examining Harry's head one last time. He gave Harry a pat on the shoulder. "You can go home."

Harry rubbed his hand through his hair at the back of his head. Not a single sign of the wound had remained. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," the Healer said, turning on his heels and hurrying back to the E.R.

The second the door closed behind him, Ron glowered at Hermione and opened his mouth, "Isn't there a single bloke safe from you?"

"What are you going on about now?" Hermione asked tiredly.

She was over exhausted with these pointless arguments. Was there at least _one_ _day_ in the whole year—scratch that, his whole lifetime when Ron would _grow up_?

"So now instead of Harry, you're interested in that fat-bellied bloke. Who's next? Healer _Amesbury_? Or are you just interested in all of them?" Ron jeered.

Hermione gritted her teeth.

"Ron ..." Harry tried, but he was cut off by Hermione.

"Do you really think I fancied that?" she hissed.

Ron snickered exaggeratedly.

"Well, you _**looooved **_Lockhart, so there is no account for taste. But perhaps, Lewis is not good-looking enough for you," he sneered, crossing his arms across his chest. "Although, you did fancy Krum and he was no beauty."

"Forgetting yourself?" Hermione snapped sarcastically. "Or do you think you're _**all**_ that."

"So, if not looks, what then?" Ron continued as if he hadn't heard her insult his physique, though his hands had clenched noticeably during her snide words. "The fame? Yeah, I see; both Lewis and Krum _**are **_famous, aren't they? Lockhart, too, despite his inability to control a single _pixie_. And Harry... " He broke off in his words and clamped his jaw shut, but he still shot a jealous look at his best friend.

"Well, they can't help it nobody's ever heard of you," Hermione snarled, wanting to hurt him back good now and knowing precisely where his weaknesses lay.

Their row only escalated after that, and to Harry's horror, they continued bickering all the way home.

xXx

With quiet determination, Tom Marvolo Riddle entered his living room. His dark eyes fell on the golden cup that lay on the beige woollen carpet next to the black lacquer dresser. The top of said dresser was permanently damaged by the Imperius Potion, which had eaten away the glossy coat, and the carpet needed cleansing as well since it now contained several brownish stains. Finally, after observing all the damage that had been done, his gaze returned to the culprit, and he plastered an overly kind smile to his face, though his eyes remained as cold as ice.

Slowly, he closed the door behind him and stalked to the silent cup. He could feel her fear increase with every step he took, and he liked that, though he showed no signs of it. She should fear him after that little stunt she'd pulled. And he was going to put her in her place.

He halted above the Horcrux, tilting his head.

"Now," he said ever so softly, "I believe I have been too lenient with you." He paused for the proper dramatic effect and continued, his voice no higher than the lowest of whispers, "It's time I teach you a lesson."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**: We don't have any money. So please refrain from suing us for a fruitless cause, since we obviously don't own anything, or else we'd be asleep on top of piles and piles of money (although we doubt that will be comfortable) instead of writing fanfic about a couple that would make J.K. Rowling (the rightful owner of the Potterverse) scream bloody murder. (Yay for run-on sentences!)

**A/N**: We thank all of you for reading and reviewing: sweet-tang-honney, AptlyApple, patie, Spirit of The Gauntlets, the-quiet-girl, MidnightThief15, iknowthisone, VinWin, EasilyAmusedReader, enchantingelana, f4vivian, MidnightEclipse93, Cosettex.

iknowthisone: Yeah, a cup did outsmart him. *sniggers* Poor Lord Voldemort having to deal with owning a troublesome cup, who is bound to get more annoying as she gains more experience at it. XD Thank you for your kind compliments.

AptlyApple: Thanks for the compliment! Here's the next chapter, and hopefully, you'll enjoy it!

* * *

**The Gold Puppet**

**Chapter 7**

"Have to warn Harry—Have to," Ginny Weasley mumbled, sitting on the edge of her bed rocking back and forth. Her expression changed and her eyes shifted across the bare room nervously. "But what if it is Harry? No, no, no." She shook her head, grabbing it with both her hands when strange visuals entered her mind. "Know the truth, you're not mad. It's him. Must not take those potions anymore, mustn't take them ..." She rose from her bed and darted around the room in a daze. "Hermione, Hermione, Hermione."

"Miss Weasley," a female voice spoke cautiously.

"Have to see, Hermione," she muttered to herself, not acknowledging the second presence in the room. "Have to make her see, warn her."

"Miss Weasley, it's time for your medication."

Ginny turned around, her face white and her pupils dilated. She looked at the blonde nurse, who'd introduced herself, but she couldn't recall her name. Nothing stayed in her mind lately, everything was fleeting.

"No, no, no," she said, stepping back. "I need to talk to Hermione first."

"Of course," the nurse said soothingly, "she will be right here." She held out the glass to Ginny Weasley. "After you drink this—"

"NO!" shouted Ginny.

With a bang, the glass the nurse held in her hand shattered into tiny pieces, which flew around wildly. Blood poured from the woman's hand and face, and she staggered on her feet. Alarms went off. Ginny backed away, as more staff members entered the room in a hurry.

"Evelynn," nurse Lorraine mumbled, grabbing the bleeding woman. "Oh Merlin."

"Get Lynn out of here," nurse Patrick ordered, not taking his eyes off Ginny.

Patrick, yes, she remembered his name. Why couldn't she recall Lynn's name before? Something was terribly wrong with her mind. Ginny looked at her hands. Were those hers? She had to figure out why—why...

"Have to keep it together. Have to," she muttered, lifting her head abruptly when she saw signs of movement.

Patrick held up both his hand in a display of harmlessness, while walking slowly to Ginny. His second colleague stood a bit more to the side of him, not approaching the girl.

"Now, Ginny, why don't you let me help you back to bed?"

"I am not taking that potion anymore," Ginny said.

"I don't have any potions in my hand, do I?" Patrick said, showing her his empty hands.

Suspiciously, Ginny looked at the other fellow. Shouldn't she know his name? She'd seen him before, hadn't see?

"Ginny," Patrick said, demanding her attention. "Don't mind him; let's get you to bed. You'll feel better after you've rested, won't you?"

She furrowed her brow and looked down, trying to think. Her mother should be here shortly, shouldn't she, to take her home? She wasn't mad after all. No matter if she'd attacked her father last time they visited. Why had she done that?

Relieved, she remembered. Because his eyes had flashed red. She'd been sure she'd seen it at the time, but now, she no longer was. Riddle couldn't be in her father, could he? He was in ... in ... in ... Hermione. Panic flooded her system. Hermione was with her family, with Harry; she had to save them all.

"Ginny?"

"Stay away from me!" she yelled, and Patrick and his assistant got blasted off their feet.

From the doorway, a curse soared through the air and struck Ginny straight in her chest. For a second, she stared into the mocking blue gaze of Healer Lewis, and then, her world turned blissful. All worries left her body and she felt so happy. Everything was right again.

"Are you guys alright?" Healer Lewis asked in his Texan drawl, not lowering his wand.

"Peachy keen," Patrick replied, coughing. "How about you, Jude?"

"Never better. Don't you just love your job?" Jude said sarcastically, scrambling to his feet. "Glad she doesn't have a wand. That is one powerful little bitch."

"We don't talk about our patients like that," Patrick reprimanded, giving Jude a disapproving glance.

"If you two are fine, then get me a double dose of Calming Draught and a triple dose of Blissflower Extract," Healer Lewis interrupted, walking to Ginny with a small smile on his face.

Blissflower Extract was so useful in her case. Sure, the extract calmed down the patient and made them forget all their problems when it was first injected. And in the long run, it prevented visual and audible hallucinations to occur in psychotic patients, so Tom had a good excuse for prescribing it. However, long periods of exposure to such "medications" often led to negative side-effects. Some reported loss of sight, while others complained about the loss of memory. Additionally, it was highly addictive, which made it quite a seller on the black market. Numerous accounts of other problems were added to the list each year, though their occurrences were not as frequent. But the reason Tom prescribed it to Ginny Weasley, the main reason, was that it would turn a healthy individual psychotic. On the streets, diluted Blissflower Extract was very popular for the vivid "trips" it sent the user in—the key word in the equation being "diluted". Ginny got the real deal.

"And I'll take care of her," Lewis added, smiling, faking helpfulness and assistance.

"Sure you want to be alone with her?" asked Patrick, concerned.

"I've got it."

"Your funeral," Jude muttered underneath his breath. He clearly wasn't sorry he could leave the room, for he was out of there in a hurry.

"I said I got it, Patrick," Lewis said in a clipped tone, annoyed the nurse hadn't left yet. He took Ginny by the arm and guided her back to her bed. "I do, however, need those potions. We wouldn't want her family to see her like this, would we?"

"We don't use Blissflower Extract around here," Patrick objected. "It's—"

"Which is why you got blasted off your feet and why Evelynn is possibly bleeding to death. Blissflower Extract is the only proper method of dealing with this kind of psychotic episodes."

"But the side-effects ar—"

"Do I need to remind you who's the Healer here? Go get it," Lewis ordered, "or send me a nurse who will do his job."

Patrick shook his head in irritation. "I do not approve of your methods. I'll get you your damn potion, but I am not taking the responsibility of giving it to her. I am not convinced her mental state is bad enough for it. She's been coherent most of the time I witnessed her." He turned on his heels and left.

"Meddlesome fool," Lewis hissed, his eyes flashing red at the closing door before he turned his gaze back on the girl now lying in her bed.

With an overly sweet smile on his face, he sat down on the bed beside Ginny, replaced the Healer's wand for his own, and undid the Imperius Curse.

"Hello, Ginny," he said offhandedly, like they were meeting in a dinner or some other harmless place. He twirled his yew wand between his fingers, watching how her eyes fell on it and she began to tremble.

"You," she hissed. "You're him, you're Riddle."

"Now, now, dear, calm down. I am Healer Lewis," he said patronisingly. "Everyone knows that. It's not a good sign of the state of your mental health to see Tom Riddle in everyone. You do want to get better, don't you? Go home someday ... eventually," he added tauntingly.

Strange thoughts filled her medicated induced mind, and she clenched her fists.

"You leave—leave He-He—" she looked around, puzzled.

"Hermione?" he finished for her, tilting his head.

Ginny narrowed her eyes.

"Such a pity you tried to kill her. It has upset her greatly, you know, not to mention what it did to your ... _boyfriend," _his face distorted into a sneer_, _"having to deal with his love trying to kill his best friend. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Poor Harry was absolutely devastated."

"You leave him alone."

His cold laugh wrapped around her. "I won't touch a hair on his head," he replied smirking. "Someone else will do that for me."

"You leave Hermione alone."

"Oh, jealous, dear? Seems to be a lot of that going around in your family. Your brother's amoeba's brain also seems to find it very distressing that _Harry ... and Hermione_," he said their names in a sugary voice, "are spending _soooo_ much time together."

"You-you—"

He patted her cheek. "But don't worry, I am sure the famous Harry Potter won't leave you. You're ill, after all. Mentally unstable. He will feel responsible for your well-being, responsible for not noticing how much pain you've been in all these years," he mocked. "No, the madder you get, darling, the less likely he is to dump you. He's too noble to do that. He'll spend the rest of his pathetic life taking care of and worrying about his crazy girlfriend."

"I am not crazy."

"By the time I am done with you, you will be," he whispered, stroking her face. "By the time I am done, everyone will know how utterly insane and ... _dangerous_ you are to those around you."

"They won't believe you. They know me," Ginny said, panicking.

He tilted his head and sent her a condescending smile. "Still a silly little girl," he taunted. "By the time I am done, _**you**_ will know yourself that you have a ... _mental disorder_." He chuckled lowly.

Ginny turned pale.

"You won't know who to trust; you won't even trust yourself. Your family will, forever, have to keep a close watch on you, so you won't hurt yourself... or another. I will destroy you, Ginny Weasley, and by doing so, I will destroy Potter."

The door swung open and Patrick entered with a tray in his hand, his face set in a scowl of disagreement. Voldemort's wand was gone in a flash, replaced by Healer Lewis's.

"Help me! Please," Ginny roared, taking advantage of the brief distraction by grabbing Healer Lewis's hand and forcing the wand away from her body, hitting him wherever she could with her other and kicking him with both her legs.

She was far more successful than she should have been, but she was in such a state of panic that she didn't realise it. Patrick's face turned to shock, and he placed the tray quickly on the side table and ran to Healer Lewis's aid. Ginny let out a desperate cry as her arms were forced on her back and she got pushed down on the mattress on her belly. Together, Healer Lewis and Patrick were finally able to subdue the rampaging, struggling girl in a stronghold, but they could not reach the tray without letting go.

"Now Ginny," Lewis said in a false soothing voice. "Let us help—"

Ginny let out a frustrated, furious growl and tried to raise her body; both men had to use their combined weight to keep her down. Realising that it would be impossible for her to move her body with both of them holding her down, she raised her head towards Healer Lewis, snapping her jaw and attempting to bite, to hurt him.

"I am going to kill you," she hissed. "I'll find a way."

"It's fine, Ginny," Healer Lewis whispered, merriment flashing through his eyes. He gave Ginny a small wink and an encouraging smile. "You're fine. Please do not worry. We're going to help you. No harm is going to be done to you."

Unfortunately, Patrick did not notice the mocking undertone in the words or saw the wink that was sent towards the girl, because he watched the back of Lewis's head, for the Healer had leaned toward Ginny to obscure his expression from the nurse.

When Ginny tried to hit his head with hers, Lewis rose out of range quickly and changed his facial features to express his "genuine" care and concern with the girl.

A frown appeared on Patrick's forehead when he noticed that there was a large bruise forming on the Healer's cheekbone, and there were a couple of red lines running from the temple all the way down to the jaw. Droplets of blood were already forming on the arm where Lewis was scratched. It seemed like the Healer clearly understood the dilemma they were in and didn't want to harm the girl unnecessarily with magic. Even when the girl was attacking him, he didn't even think about using magic to subdue the girl and protect himself. It made Patrick think a little bit better about the Healer. Maybe his initial judgement had been mistaken? He'd only used magic on her before to protect others, not himself. Patrick could understand that.

"Jude!" Patrick yelled. "Lorraine! We need help in here!"

Lorraine came running. Shocked, she looked at the situation she walked in on.

"The potions, hurry," Patrick said, not noticing the brief amusement this caused in Healer Lewis's face.

Lorraine grabbed the two vials and approached Ginny.

"No, no, get away from me!"

The redhead pushed her head in the mattress, but it was no use. Lorraine pulled her head back.

"Blissflower Extract first," Lewis ordered.

"No, no, he's hurting me. Help!" Ginny yelled, shaking her head trying to dislodge the nurse's grip.

Lorraine switched the vials.

"Someone help me!" And her words ended with a bloodcurdling scream that caused both Patrick and Lorraine to cringe.

"Use your wand or she will spit it out," Patrick warned Lorraine, who moved closer to Ginny with the potions in her hand.

"No, don't, you don't understand, please," Ginny begged, tears falling down her face. "Please."

Her words were spoken so desperately that Lorraine nearly wanted to nod to her, promising her that she wouldn't feed her the potions. However, she knew that she had to do what must be done; Healer Lewis was known for his work in the psychological area, and he clearly knew what he was doing. Why else would so many witches and wizards ask for his assistance? With renewed determination, Lorraine steadied Ginny's head with a wave of her wand and poured the two vials of potions into the redhead's mouth.

The two potions hit her bloodstream hard, and she slowly ceased her struggles, slipping into unconsciousness.

Patrick and Lewis let out a relieved sigh, simultaneously. The nurse looked at the Healer and let out a snort. "Close call."

Lewis smiled. "Yeah, close call."

"I—I—"

"No problem," Lewis interrupted. "You're not the first one to question my methods, and I find it's always the best nurses who do," he complimented slippery.

Lorraine raised her eyebrows and watched the exchange curiously.

"Thanks," Patrick said, shaking his head as he looked down at the girl and stroked her hair. "Poor kid."

"Her condition will improve," Lewis said to the surprise of both nurses, while he rose from the bed. He waved his wand around, clearing up the mess caused by what happened before.

"You think?" Lorraine blurted out disbelievingly.

"It will get worse first, but eventually, she will see what is true and what not," Lewis replied calmly.

Both Lorraine and Patrick fell silent, returning their sympathetic gazes back to Ginny.

"She will need constant supervision for the rest of her life though," Patrick added sadly.

"Yes," Lewis acknowledged. He gave a couple of more orders about Ginny's treatment before leaving for his office. He needed another dose of Polyjuice Potion and he needed it fast.

"If only they'd brought her in right after it happened to her," Lorraine said to Patrick as they positioned Ginny in a more comfortable position in bed.

Patrick nodded, straightening Ginny's sheets.

"So, what was that about, just now, between you and Lewis? Don't tell me you've managed to rub his feathers the wrong way, too?" Lorraine inquired nosily as they left Ginny's chamber, leaving the girl alone in her new world of nightmares.

xXx

The cold war at Grimmauld's Place officially began. Although Hermione still managed to fake happiness, Ron had been unbearable. George would Floo in from his flat in Diagon Alley for breakfast, because they had developed the habit of eating breakfast together at Harry's after the war and Molly insisted upon continuing this tradition. But nowadays, the Weasleys would often wolf down their breakfasts whenever they heard Ron's footsteps coming down the stairs. Therefore, the "habit" would often end with only Harry, Ron, and Hermione sitting at the table.

This morning, a couple of days after their row at the hospital, everything was quite similar to every other day, until the headline of the Daily Prophet caught Harry's eyes. He grabbed the papers from the table and began to read.

_**Former Death Eaters - Imperiused ... or NOT?**_

_Today, fourteen alleged Death Eaters will be placed on trials, charged with murder and torture. Amongst them is the well-known, former school governor of Hogwarts, Lucius Malfoy. _

_"I know for a fact," a witch who requested to remain anonymous, "that Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater. He had been waiting for You-Know-Who to return, and he was the one who led many of the raids last year!" (For full coverage, turn to page 8.)_

A picture of Lucius Malfoy was placed directly beneath it, looking as haughty and dignified as usual. A frown creased Harry's forehead. Although he knew that Lucius very well might've committed the crimes, Narcissa Malfoy did save his life. He could only imagine how devastated she would be if her husband ended up serving a life sentence in Azkaban.

"Oho! Look at this!" Ron suddenly spoke up, giving Hermione a start. Apparently, she had been immersed in her own thoughts. He grabbed the papers from Harry's hand and read the headline out loud. "Former Death Eater, Imperiused or not." He flipped the Prophet around, so it faced Harry. "Lucius's famous, too. Perhaps _**someone**_ we know would snog _**him**_, too."

Harry shot a glance at Hermione, who had stopped in her motions and glared at her plate of waffles. Her lips were set to a thin line, and her jaws hardened.

Mentally, Harry sighed. It had been going on for days already. Ever since Ginny's attack on Hermione, and he had chosen to stay behind with her, Ron had been impossible. Of course, for some strange reason (perhaps because she was also angered by the redhead's actions), Hermione had been randomly giving Ron a cold shoulder. Just two days ago, Ron, with a sheepish grin, had tried to approach Hermione—Harry assumed that he was trying to apologize for being an idiot. When Ron had tried to take a hold of her hand, she promptly flung his hand away and launched into a verbal attack. Although Harry knew that Hermione had been stressed with Ron's idiocy, he honestly didn't think it justified her words, which were too cruel for him to repeat, even in memory. This entire situation reminded him too much of their sixth year at Hogwarts, and he didn't want to take sides now either. They were both his friends.

"Ron ..." Harry began to say, trying to divert the attention to a different subject; but Hermione's voice came crashing in.

"Ronald Weasley, if you can't learn to grow up, I'm finding it extremely hard to even stay in the same room as you," she said in an eerily calm way.

It was the first time she had spoken to Ron after the incident at the hospital, and from the looks of things, it wasn't going to end pretty. Normally, Harry always tried to stay out of their arguments. This time, however, he was about to say something to stop them from launching into another verbal battle, but he was, of course, stopped from saying anything when Ron retorted with an unnecessarily loud voice.

"Of course! You would rather stay in the same room as ferret senior, wouldn't you? He's mighty famous and wealthy. And perhaps good-looking in your dictionary, seeing that you'd accepted Krum, too. Oh, let's not forget: he's blond like Lockhart. If you can convince him to put on some fat, he might get that same belly as Healer Lewis," Ron mouthed off. "And he's rich, too. Perhaps you've finally found someone who can satisfy _**all**_ your needs."

Harry gawked at Ron; the redhead seemed to have totally lost any and all sense.

"Ron ..." he started to say, but Hermione had already risen from her chair.

She wiped off her mouth with a napkin before fixing Ron with a frosty stare. Placing both of her hands on the table, she leaned forward, so that she was closer to the git sitting in front of her, still holding on to that ridiculous newspaper. Though the way he clutched onto it now, seemed to resemble a pathetic attempt at raising some form of shield between him and Hermione.

"You know? Perhaps you are correct. And with each passing second, it's becoming clearer and clearer that maybe I was wrong in assuming, in the first place, that I had found that person in _**you**_," she hissed.

With that said, she ran up the stairs to her room, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary.

xXx

Calmly, Tom Riddle sat in a cosy, comfortable armchair. A cup of steaming hot coffee stood on the side table beside him with a biscuit on its saucer, and he flipped another page of today's Daily Prophet like any other person would before starting the day. It all seemed utterly normal, like it could have been any average family's home with the domestic atmosphere he portrayed, if it hadn't been for the hoarse screams of the cup's Horcrux on the ground.

Screams, he pretended not to hear, while he immersed in thought about the news he'd just read. Casually, without taking his wand off the target on the ground, he flipped back to the frontpage and smirked at the picture of Lucius Malfoy.

He'd not forgotten about the Malfoys, not at all. But even _he_ could only do a certain amount of things at once, be that more than others. And Lucius had never been anywhere near the top of his priority list. Still, it might be entertaining and ... _informing _to go to the trial though—see what Malfoy had to say for himself.

He snorted.

He could so hear Lucius whine, snivel, moan, and complain to the Wizengamot about how he was "forced" to torture Mudbloods. How he "never" wanted to hurt anyone. How he'd been "tricked" by the Dark Lord.

Well, the latter was true, of course.

Tom sniggered softly; merriment danced on his face as he remembered how easy it had been to manipulate the Malfoy family to join his side. They were so vain, especially Abraxas. It had been child's play to get them to heel. By the time they realised what they had got into, it had been too late.

_Once Lord Voldemort has you, he never lets go, __**never**__._

Soon, the little Mudblood chit would understand this, too, and stop her ridiculous opposition.

He glanced at the thrashing cup on the carpet. He'd never crucioed an item before and it was rather interesting to witness it bounce around, as if it jumped on a trampoline. Though, the pain-filled howls were the exact duplicate of his human victims. Those sounds had always delighted him, more so than any Beethoven symphony.

But right now, he revelled in them, though his impassioned facade did not show it. He picked up the biscuit and ate it slowly.

He hated her, hated her with a passion beyond recognition. He hated her ancestry, her stinking blood, her intelligence, her sneakiness, her fearlessness, her boldness, her opposition, her loyalty to Potter, that ragged, wild bush on her head allegedly called hair, _which had a really nice herbal smell and had been real fun to pull on, and the way she had bitten him..._

He felt himself grow cold, realising what he'd just thought of. Fortunately, she didn't know, for he had always been able to hide his true emotions, even as a child.

With a vengeance, he placed some more force behind the Cruciatus Curse. She'd pay for sending messages to herself and for ... for _**that**_.

One last cry sounded, and it turned silent in the room. The cup no longer moved.

_Perhaps a bit too much force?_

Oh well, he had to go anyway. And her punishment wasn't over. No, one round of crucios wouldn't cut it with her. He had to be a bit more creative. And Hermione's Horcrux would find out just how creative Lord Voldemort could get.

He smiled happily and drank the rest of his coffee before rising from his chair. He watched the still Horcrux and pocketed it with a sigh. She obviously could not be trusted to be left in his flat by herself. Changing his appearance, he walked out the door—he had a trial to attend.

xXx

"Harry, do you know what you're doing?" Ron asked out of disbelief, as the three of them strode away from the Floo channel they had just arrived from.

They were currently inside the Ministry of Magic, because somehow, Harry had managed to convince both Hermione and Ron to come with him for his eyewitness testimony. When they'd heard what he planned to say to the Wizengamot, they'd forgotten about their ongoing disagreements and had launched into a verbal assault on him. A few other people who had just Flooed in shot them curious stares—after all, it wasn't everyday that one got to see the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

"Yes," Harry replied, pushing his glasses back into place and patting away the dirt that had fallen on his shoulders.

"No, you don't know," Hermione refuted his words. "This is Lucius Malfoy we're talking about. I can understand you trying to help Draco Malfoy since, at least, he was cleared of any murders or tortures, but Lucius Malfoy?" She snorted.

"Harry, Hermione is..."

"We have to," Harry said firmly, breaking off Ron's words. "Narcissa Malfoy saved my life."

They were so immersed in their conversation that they did not notice that one of the passersby—a rather ordinary-looking man—stopped in his footsteps and listened keenly to what they said, as he started trailing along after them at a seemingly discrete distance.

"So what?" Ron asked, rolling his eyes.

"If she hadn't told them that I was dead, I wouldn't be standing here in front of you today, Lord Voldemort wouldn't have been vanquished, and the world would've fallen into his hands," Harry answered, stopping in his stride and turning around to face his friends. "Is that what you would have wanted to happen?"

"Of course not," Hermione shook her head. "But it was Narcissa Malfoy who saved you, not Lucius Malfoy."

The ordinary-looking man clenched his hand into a fist, causing his knuckles to turn white. This was ... _enlightening _news, indeed. Out of all things, Tom had not expected to hear this at the Ministry. It appeared that the Malfoys were far more traitorous than he had previously believed.

"Can you imagine how devastated Narcissa will be if she finds out that Lucius Malfoy's been sentenced to Azkaban for life?" Harry asked.

Oh no. That would not be a fitting ... punishment for a family of traitors. Not fitting at all.

"At least he's not dead," Ron answered stubbornly, folding his arms across his chest.

Hmmm... finally a suggestion of cotton-wool for brains that made some sense to him. But no, dying would not cut it either. Lord Voldemort was far too angry, and letting the Malfoys die would not appease his anger. No, they needed to suffer some more before he allowed them to shrivel up and die in front of him. _**If**_ he allowed them to die. A lifetime of torture seemed like a fitting sentence for the family of ferrets.

"No, and being at Azkaban is even worse than death itself," Harry answered grimly.

Tom's eyes flickered over to the trio and caught the glances pumpkin brains sent towards the Mudblood. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he recalled how he had been spoiling their relationship. It was quite easy, really, and Weasley had been the one who handed him the weapons—his jealousy and his bad temper. If poor, little Ronald hadn't been so jealous about every human being Granger talked to, Tom wouldn't have had the chance to ruin their relationship. Not to mention the fact that simple putdowns were enough to get Ron's temper going.

And now ... it seemed like the redhead wanted to make amends. Well, it was just too bad they had to run into Lord Voldemort, wasn't it?

Sniggering silently to himself, he moved backwards into a dark corner before fully possessing Hermione Granger once more.

"I hope you do remember the pain Lucius caused others, Harry," Tom spoke through Hermione's mouth. He nearly laughed—the memories from the Mudblood's Horcrux were quite useful after all. "Don't you remember how he almost caused Buckbeak to die in the hands of Macnair? Or the way he treated Dobby, who gave his life to save ours. And remember how Ginny nearly died in Riddle's hands and the state she is in now... It is all because of Lucius Malfoy's actions."

"You tell him, Hermione," Ron grinned at her.

"Hermione" icily glanced at him askew and returned "her" attention back to Harry. A fleeting frown appeared on Ron's face, and he tried to cover it up with a nervous smile, as he scratched the back of his head.

"You'll dishonour the memories of those who died in the war if you save him, Harry."

Harry stared at her, not knowing what to say for the moment.

"Hermione's right, you know?" Ron asked, shooting Hermione another lopsided smile. He was taken aback when she narrowed her eyes at him.

"I know she is, but ... I'm sorry. I can't watch a family being broken apart like this ... and Narcissa did save me."

With determined steps, he walked towards the elevators with Hermione and Ron closely following him.

"What should we do now, Hermione?" Ron asked, moving a bit closer to her.

"Perhaps if you used your brains a bit more, Ronald, you would think of a plan that could be useful," she answered, "instead of always asking for suggestions."

She stared at him from the corner of her eye and was thoroughly satisfied to find him flustered. Just a prod or two more and thoughts of talking to Hermione would fly out of the dunderhead's brains.

"Well ... I ..."

By now, the three of them had stopped in their steps. Harry watched the two of them apprehensively, worried it was going to spin out of control once more.

"You know, Ronald, I'm completely baffled in regards to how you've done _anything_ in your life. And I will probably _**never**_ understand why Harry chose you as his best mate, because frankly speaking,"—she moved another step closer to Ron—, "what _**have **_you ever done for him?"

Ron opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no words came out—he was overly shocked by the confrontation.

"The times when you could've stood by him, you didn't. The times when you could've supported him, you left. You remember that, don't you, Harry? What he did to us, while we were hunting for Voldemort's Horcruxes," Hermione asked, her eyes sliding over to the Boy-Who-Should-Drop-Dead.

Harry sighed and looked away, not wanting to lie or hurt his friend.

"It's ... It doesn't really matter, Hermione," he said quietly. "Ron did come back."

"Yes, but the point is, he left when we needed him the most," she answered. She looked back at Ron, "And you still call yourself a Gryffindor? I'm starting to believe that perhaps you _**begged **_the Sorting Hat to put you in Gryffindor." She laughed. "Afraid that people would laugh at you for being the only **coward **in a family of Gryffindors?"

Without waiting for Ron's answer, Hermione walked over to where Harry stood. Maybe Harry was frightened by the coldness she had displayed when she spoke to Ron, because once she neared him, he immediately walked into the elevator—he didn't want _that _kind of Hermione badgering him and stopping him from going to the trial. He couldn't let her talk him out of helping Narcissa.

Observing the whole situation, Tom left Hermione's body, knowing that his job here was finished. In fact, he didn't need to go to the trial any longer. It was quite clear that Harry Potter was determined to save Lucius Malfoy from Azkaban, and with his influence on the wizarding world right now, the Wizengamot would definitely listen to him. It was useless, of course, saving the Malfoys from the prison, because sooner or later, they would fall into Tom's hands, and Azkaban might just seem a bit more merciful.

He narrowed his eyes at where the trio still stood. Harry tried to pull Ron into the elevator so that the doors could close, while Hermione leaned against the wall of the elevator, still dazed from previously being possessed. His lips curved into a smirk when his eyes landed on the Mudblood.

The girl gave a sudden start and pushed herself away from the elevator. Tom raised an eyebrow, surprised at her reaction. Was it because he had the cup? Or was it because her mind was already subconsciously detecting his presence? Whatever the reason was, it made him quite satisfied to see her so shaken.

Hermione's eyes darted around, stubbornly trying to find the source that caused her to shudder. However, the doors closed before she could, and even if the doors hadn't closed, she wouldn't have found him.

For he had already Apparated himself out of the Ministry.

xXx

Once Tom returned to his apartment, he took out the cup and placed it on the table again. He swirled into the chair in front of it and stared at the Horcrux, contemplating what methods to use on the wench. He rested his chin on his left hand, which was propped up on the armrest, never taking his eyes off of the cup.

The girl needed to be taught a lesson, but what?

He frowned, recalling what had happened right before he Apparated to the Ministry of Magic. He wondered if the Horcrux was still unconscious—could soul pieces actually faint? It never happened to him before ... but it could be different for each person. She couldn't have been faking it, since she could never stop herself from screaming, let alone shaking when he held the Cruciatus on her.

With a flick of his wand, he sent the Cruciatus at the cup again and was delighted to hear her familiar screams. It appeared that soul pieces could faint.

"Good day, Miss Granger," he greeted her amiably, not even bothering to lift the curse off her.

Her answer was, naturally, her screams.

He rubbed his chin, wondering what else would be torturous enough for the Horcrux, letting her understand who was in charge here.

His eyes roved around the room, until they landed on the cauldron of boiling water. He'd been planning to brew something special for Ginny Weasley, which required a preheated cauldron, but he supposed freckle-face could wait. A wicked smile appeared on his face, and with a fluid motion, he was out of the seat and the cup was in his hand again. Once the Cruciatus was lifted off her, she started her ranting again, telling him her thoughts about what had happened at the Ministry. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he stalked over to the cauldron.

As if he really cared about her opinion.

She must have guessed his intentions, halfway to the cauldron, since she suddenly quieted down—she was really quite intelligent for guessing correctly this quickly. Most of his victims hardly knew what hit them before he was kind enough to tell them.

"As you can tell, Mudblood, I really do not care for your thoughts," Tom told the cup when they reached the boiling pot of liquid. "What matters right now, however ..." He purposely stopped in his words, relishing in her anticipation. He ran his thumb over the base of the cup, laughing gently when she shuddered again at his touch. In a low voice, he continued speaking, "What matters right now is that you learn where your rightful place is."

With a plop, he dropped the cup into the water.

Her screams immediately filled the room again, and he closed his eyes, letting it wash over him.

But no. This was not enough yet.

Casually, he walked over to his cabinet, while the Horcrux thrashed and cried, attempting to jump out of the pot, but to no avail.

"Your disgusting parents should've taught you simple little things such as obedience and respect, Granger," Tom drawled as he looked over the ingredients, determining which potion he wanted to brew at the moment.

He grinned when inspiration struck. He knew just the potion to brew. It would definitely get the Mudblood to squirm—literally.

With a flick of his wand, the fire became slightly smaller, though the pain inflicted upon the Horcrux was hardly decreased. The screams were quite entertaining, but the wailing started to get on his nerves. He swirled around and flicked his wand again, levitating the Horcrux directly above the cauldron. To his dismay, the screams—the enjoyable part—stopped, but the sobbing continued, though at a lower volume.

He contemplated his options. The cup didn't necessarily have to be in the cauldron the whole time he brewed the potion—one that would directly trigger the Reality Distortion Curse he had used on the real life Hermione. All he had to do was immerse the cup in it when the potion was finished. However ...

"If you've finally learned your lesson, Mudblood, then perhaps I can be a merciful Lord and stop the torture—for now," he said, twirling his wand between his fingers idly.

He slightly frowned, wondering what had gone over him. Why should he give her choices? _He_ should be the one making the decisions. Nevertheless, he had already spoken, and he was never one to go back on his own words.

Her answer would determine her fate.

Therefore, being the idiotic, annoying, disgusting, irritating, retarded, filthy, little _**imbecile**_ that she was, of course she would choose the wrong answer.

His eyes flashed with anger as she started ranting and throwing insults at him again. He ceased his levitation spell and immediately howls resounded through the room once more.

She would pay for her disobedience, and no matter how much she begged him, he would not stop until he was finished with the potion.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:**Yes! Finally, we gained ownership of everything Harry Potter related. *does a little dance in fantasyland, while high-fiving her fellow partner-in-crime.* We are going to be so rich now. YAY  
If you believed the above, go find a psychologist Healer - just not Lewis. He's too busy with us. XD

**A/N: **On Adultfanfiction there will be an additional lemon in this chapter. We will write some limes in future chapters for FFnet, too. But the one we wrote in this chapter is definitely crossing the borders of the rules on this site, big time. If you are off legal age (blah, blah, blah), you can find the link to the AFFnet chapter in our profile.

We'd liked to thank everyone who read and reviewed: Patie, BlueSkyHeaven, ccha, sweet-tang-honney, Mydia88, EasilyAmusedReader, Sam, Spirits of the Gauntlets, VinWin.

ccha: Thank you.

Sam: Thank you for saying this story is pretty good. Too bad you had to add the "but" to that line, which negates the entire compliment. Alas, not everyone knows the proper way to give anonymous feedback, so we'll forgive you the error.  
Okay, we understand you see it as whacky Horcrux and possession scenes and prefer in the flesh meetings between them both. But despite that we as the writers and you as the reader may prefer the characters to meet face-to-face, you have to keep in mind that the character in question may not see any motivation for doing so. Tom has nothing to gain and everything to lose from such an event. However, that being said, we are manipulative, evil, scheming writers, so said event is planned to occur about two chapters from now, and will continue to occur afterwards. *sniggers*  
Also I'd like to say that up until now, there have been a total of three real possession scenes, three meetings in the flesh, and one that's a combination of both, so it was evenly matched. And if you dislike the cup Horcrux angle, we'd strongly suggest searching for a fic that does something differently.

* * *

**The Gold Puppet**

**Chapter Eight**

After hearing the outcome of the trial, namely the acquittal of all things blond, blonder and blondest, Hermione was in no mood to speak to anyone, especially not Harry. And Ron—well, despite that he had agreed with her on Lucius's fate, their relationship (if you could still call it one) had deteriorated so much lately, she didn't know what to think of it anymore.

So, she went upstairs and buried herself in her only safe harbour—books. Strolling along the many shelves on the walls of the Black library, her eyes perused the titles for something interesting to read. _History of Wizarding Genealogy, Muggles and Monsters, Compendium of Jinxes, Potions for __thy__ Enemies __..._none of them sounded appealing.

Her hand hovered questioningly over the back of _Reality or Illusion; _but her eyes fell on _Arithmancy for Professionals, _and she grabbed that volume instead, excited she found a book on her favourite subject that she had not read before.

Quickly, she installed herself in the comfy armchair, took a sip of the hot cocoa she had brought with her from the kitchen, and opened the book. When she finally slammed it shut at page 105 to go have dinner, she was in for quite a shock. For she no longer was where she recalled being.

Startled, Hermione looked around her new environment. It appeared to be a bedroom annex study she had never seen before. Well, the chair she sat in and the side table were the same as before, and so was the other chair belonging to the Black library seating arrangement, but they stood around a prominent hearth, which had a nice cosy fire burning in it.

Her eyes drew to the huge canopy bed, which made quite a statement with its black silk sheets with a silver lining. Next to it stood two nightstands, both home to a burning candle on its socket and a diversity of books scattered around on their surfaces. A large wardrobe and an equally huge bookcase were stationed on the left wall, while the right wall held a painting, a mirror, and two doors. Hermione noticed there were no windows.

Where the hell was she?

She looked back at the Arithmancy book in her hands. It was still the same. Had it been responsible for bringing her here? She hadn't really checked the books anymore, because Sirius had gone through his house like a rampaging wildebeest and had tossed out any and all things even remotely dangerous. Her hand went to her pocket to draw her wand when she realised it wasn't there.

Her pants' pocket wasn't there. Well, to be precise, her pants weren't there.

Distraught, Hermione jumped up and nearly twisted both her ankles, for she wore a pair of heels that could have reached the top of the Big Ben in her humble opinion. She looked down in confusion at the long, smooth, green satin fabric that cascaded down her legs all the way to her feet. She tossed the book in the chair behind her and patted both of her sides for any sign of her wand being somewhere around in this wide skirt and the tight-fitting black leather bodice on top of it.

She found no trace of her wand.

And why was she wearing long green satin gloves? These were definitely not clothes she would have picked out herself. Carefully, she walked to the mirror, occasionally wobbling on her feet, as she felt the soft fabric twirl around her legs. Appalled, she stared at her reflection.

Okay, this was someone's idea of a sick joke.

The bodice was so tight-fitting she could barely breathe, but what was worse was that it practically served up her breasts on a silver platter. Hermione had never worn anything this revealing before and her cheeks flushed. The long gloves were fine. And the skirt she could have lived with had it not been for the two huge splits, which reached up far above mid thigh. If she walked too fast, she was likely to flash people her underwear.

Come to think of it...

She tried to bend over, but noticed the bodice didn't allow for that much movement and she gasped for air, straightening out immediately. Looking in the mirror, she opened the split with her hands, lifted it slightly, and then, dropped said skirt immediately.

No underwear.

What on earth was going on? Where was she? Why was she wearing make-up? And what the hell had happened to her hair?

Her hand lifted one of the few loose curls that graced the side of her face, not being a part of the elaborate contraption the rest of her hair was in at the back of her head. It was still her colour, but the structure was different. It was shiny and curled in a nicely contained manner, instead of her normal wild, bushy, frizzy curls.

Hermione growled. She happened to like her hair.

Well, not when it rained or was damp outside, of course, because then she would look like an exploded poodle. But normally, when it was dry weather, which happened to be...

Oh, screw it, she lived in England; who was she kidding?

But it was her hair, not this ... well, whatever this was... Her hands went up to undo it, but no matter how hard she tried to loosen the hairpins, they wouldn't budge. Sighing, she finally gave up, realising she had better things to do than worry about her hair and what she looked like. She needed to find out where she was.

She stumbled a couple of times, after which she tried in vain to shake off the high-heeled shoes. However, since she was no Cinderella, they remained firmly attached to her feet. So, she had no choice but to walk cautiously. She didn't fancy falling on her face.

The door on her right was locked. Against her better judgement, she decided to try out the other door, too. Something had to go right for her eventually, right?

_Wrong!_

She'd almost reached the other door when the one, she'd just checked, swung open. Curious, Hermione turned around to see who was there. Clad in all black robes, there stood Lord Voldemort. Darkness swirled around his tall, skeletal-thin frame like a shadow or an aura. He pulled down his hood in a casual yet sensual move, revealing his bald head. Red slit-pupil eyes in a ghostlike white face gazed at her intensely. His slits-for-nostrils flared, as he breathed in the air around him.

"Hello, Hermione," he spoke ever so casually in that high-pitched voice of his. "How was your day?"

It broke her out of her stupor.

Frightened, she took a step back and ... planted her heel right in the skirt's fabric. Panicking, her arms windmilled around as she tried to remain her balance and failed miserably. Looking like a complete idiot, she fell flat on her behind; her legs spread wide-eagle, though she did manage to break most of her fall with her hands. Completely red in her face and leaning on one elbow, Hermione adjusted the skirt, so she'd stop flashing him before she dared to glance in his direction.

He'd crossed his arms over his chest, and his facial expression was blank, except for the slight upward curl of his mouth.

_Terrific, she was a freaking sideshow._

"Are you alright..." He tilted his head as he paused there and continued in a most intimate voice, "Honey?"

_Honey?_

Hermione firmly pinched herself in her arm. She had to be dreaming.

His cold laugh told her otherwise. "Oh, you are very much awake, _darling._"

Now, there was an audible mocking undertone in his voice when he said the endearment. She almost felt relieved to hear it. At least it was slightly less surreal. Not much, but still, right now, she took what she could get.

He took a step in her direction. In response, Hermione scooted back on her behind, or rather, tried to scoot back on her behind, because the long skirt was definitely a scooter-pooper.

He froze, frowning. "You're going to need help to get up."

"I am good," she replied rapidly. She didn't need nor want _**his**_ help. He was far too close as it was.

He smirked. "Oh, if you prefer to stay on the ground..." he trailed off suggestively, tossing his outer robe off his shoulders, revealing the black button-down shirt underneath, which showed quite a considerable amount of his smooth, snow-white chest.

Hermione, suddenly, felt the need to get up as soon as possible. So no longer worrying about propriety, decency or the ability to breathe, she rolled on her belly, somehow got on her knees, and scrambled to her feet in a hurry. Her hands clutched to the blasted corset, which had painfully dug itself into her ribcage during her movements, and she gasped for air when she stood up straight.

The only problem with all her moves was that she'd had to turn her back on him.

"Eek!"

Startled, she jumped when she turned around and found him right in front of her. His arms grabbed her sides tightly, so she wouldn't fall again from her unexpected movement. Hermione placed her hands on his chest and pushed as hard as she could. But he simply grabbed a hold of her gloved left arm. A sharp sting travelled from it to her mind as he dug his fingers in, eyeing her quietly.

She yelped from the ache and grabbed a hold of his wrist, trying to dislodge his grip.

"Do you really think you can out wrestle me, little one?" he asked, amused, tightening his hold.

The ache worsened, and while she attempted to remove his hand from her arm, she also tried to kick him but got tangled up in both his robes and her skirt, which lessened the impact on his shin severely.

"Very well," he said tiresomely.

He moved so fast she didn't have a chance to react. Well, she screamed, but that didn't help. Both her arms were now held firmly behind her back and he pulled her body up against his. Her toes barely touched the ground.

He looked down at her coldly, as tears sprung in her eyes when the lower part of her left arm felt like it was on fire. She tried to wriggle free and bit her lip when that only made him increase the pressure on her bones.

"Are you going to be sensible now?" he enquired condescendingly. "As much as I normally enjoy these little games, I am not in the mood for it today, Hermione."

"Let go of me!" she yelled. "This is not happening. I am not here. You are not here. You are dead, _**dead!**_" she repeated desperately, as if saying it loud enough would make it so.

"Not again," he growled.

Lord Voldemort swirled her around in his arms, pressing her back against his front. Briefly, she felt some relief in her left arm; but he caught it again in his hand. She let out a howl in pain; because the moment he touched her there again, it felt like it had been dipped into a hot frying pan.

"Hold still, Granger, and the pain will subside," he said coolly.

Trembling, she complied, and sure enough, he hadn't lied. Immediately, it turned to a throbbing ache, not pleasant but bearable.

"Now there, that wasn't too hard, was it?" he whispered in her ear patronisingly.

"Wha-What do you wa-want?" she stuttered, not understanding a thing anymore. "Ho-how..."

He placed one of his long spidery fingers against her mouth. "Hush."

Hermione swallowed. She'd never been so afraid in her life, and she'd been through the worst things imaginable.

"Qimmiq!" he called out.

A sad-looking house-elf in a Union Jack towel Apparated in. "How can Qimmiq assist Master?" he said, bowing down humbly.

"One of you assisted her in altering her memory again," Voldemort stated softly.

Hermione frowned. Her memory was fine. But Qimmiq's ears and shoulders dropped. His arm went up to his head in an attempt to slap it, and she wanted to step forward to stop it from doing so, when Voldemort spoke, "Stop."

Qimmig's hand halted halfway to his head.

"I don't have time for house-elf's theatrics. Bring me the one who did it."

With a pop, Qimmiq was gone again. Silence filled the room. Hermione wondered why he didn't say anything, what he was going to do next, and what was going on? How could he possibly be alive? She'd seen his dead body. She'd seen it.

Three house-elves Apparated back into the room. Hermione recognised Qimmiq standing on the left. Together with another house-elf, he held on tight to the one struggling in the middle.

"Mairas," Voldemort hissed, looking at the tiny creature standing in the middle coldly. "So, it was you."

Mairas raised her head and glanced from Voldemort to Hermione. Her green bulging eyes stayed trained on the Gryffindor and she smiled. "Mistress needed this. Mistress is kind to Mairas, so Mairas helped Mistress—"

"You have only one Master, elf," Voldemort interrupted quietly, his voice dropping to dangerously low levels.

"Mairas has one Mistress," the tiny creature stated daringly, lifting her chin.

A dash of green struck the elf straight in her chest, and it died with a happy smile on her face.

"NOOOO!" yelled Hermione, horrified.

"Yes," Voldemort snapped.

He ripped the satin glove of her left arm, raising her arm in front of her face to reveal the blackened dark mark in all its glory. Her skin around it was flaming red from the long activation the tattoo had sustained recently.

"This is who you are. This is what you are. This is where you will be, _forever_," he snarled, practically pushing her nose against her tattoo. "No house-elf with silly aspirations of grandeur and heroics will be able to help you. No memory modifications will change the fact that ... _You_. _Are_. _**Mine**_," he spoke the last three words carefully controlled. "It will only confirm it, Hermione. Your side lost, and I got the sweetest little prize, _**you**_. It is time you begin to accept that."

Abruptly, he swirled her around again, pressing their fronts together. Her heart pounded so hard she could feel it beat against her ribcage. She could feel it beat against his ribcage. They were too close, far too close.

"Leave us," he ordered with an offhanded wave to the house-elves. "And dispose of that."

Before the pops sounded, his wand was back in his hand, tracing the lines of her face. "Time to make you remember, Hermione," he breathed against her cheek.

The red flash blinded her eyes. Everything turned dark, until a spot of light illuminated it. The room swirled. He swirled. Everything was blurry but slowly became clear again. The confusion she had felt before dissipated into cold reality. He'd been right. She was _**his**_.

The realisation that struck her face caused an animalistic, victorious growl to leave his mouth. He grabbed her by the back of her head abruptly and kissed her.

And it felt so ... _**right**_; so, she kissed him back.

He deepened the kiss when he felt her surrender. The feel of his mouth on hers; the sensation of his tongue inside of her, pressing against hers; the way his arm around her waist held her close, _so close_; the soft caress of his fingers as he traced her body in a meticulous manner from her head to the inside of her thigh via the split in her skirt; the way her body caught fire from his ministrations there, she knew it was meant to be.

He lifted her ever so slightly and moved to the bed, not breaking the kiss or his gentle touch between her legs. It made her shudder in his arms and he smirked against her lips.

"Time for my prize," he breathed, placing her on the bed.

"Yes, my Lord."

With a start, Hermione's world swirled and she blinked. Confusion crossed her features when she was no longer in bed, but sat in a chair. Her eyes darted around. Where was she?

She took in the books, the shelves, and she remembered. She was in the Black library. She was at Twelve Grimmauld Place and no longer in Lord Voldemort's bed.

To her horror, a feeling of extreme loss swept through her, knowing that he was gone, and she was certain that —if only for a moment— she heard him chuckle.

xXx

Tom sighed, unable to stop the rant that came out of the Horcrux's mouth. Apparently, the little bint was upset over the punishment he had inflicted upon her real persona for biting him—distorting people's realities was _sooooo _much fun, but this had proven to be incredibly entertaining. His old snake-faced exterior was quite a sight to behold, and this time around, he'd had two victims to the dark Reality Distortion Curse—one who had no knowledge of its existence and one who witnessed the entire thing knowing full well what was going on.

It had literally been a dream come true, _for him that is_.

Both Grangers hadn't enjoyed it that much, or rather, they hadn't enjoyed how much they'd enjoyed fucking him. A brief snigger left his lips. He'd used Legilimency the entire time and witnessed her horrified reaction when "wakening", and well, the Horcrux had been vocal to him during. It still was.

Annoyed, Tom glared at the cup. Surely, the silly soul would realise by now he was not to be trifled with. He'd been sure that after her "pleasurable" experience in the boiling kettle, she'd think twice before acting out toward him, before trying his patience, before...

Did she just call him a magical misfit, _**him**_, Lord Voldemort?

Placing his long legs from the tabletop to the floor, he rose from his chair and paced to the cup. His hand swept out, grabbed it by one of the two handles, and he strode with it to his unused kitchen. To his annoyance, she continued to tell him exactly what she thought of him, and the words that came out of her mouth weren't pretty.

He shook the cup violently when he came to a halt in front of the dishwasher. "I thought you were supposed to be the smartest student of your class, Granger," he hissed. "But it seems another "_lesson_" is in order before it will sink down into your thick skull your life is mine to do with as I please."

With a flick of his wand, the dishwasher opened and the top rack jumped out. It was a filthy Muggle device, so it would suit her muddy soul just fine. He placed the cup in the rack and flashed his wand around. The machine trembled on its feet for a moment as he warded it against any magical interference. He smashed the rack back in place, making the cup roll on its side.

"I believe we need to wash that foul mouth of yours, Mudblood," he snarled.

His wand produced a stream of liquid soap, which he targeted deliberately at the cup's opening. It leaked out onto the floor of the dishwasher, but he could still hear her cough and spit.

"Enjoy," he mocked and slammed the dishwasher's door to.

His wand circled the buttons and picked the longest program with the highest temperature automatically. With a click, the machine turned on, and an irritating loud buzzing noise filled the room.

How did Muggles stand this?

The man who had rented him this flat had gone on and on and on about the wonders of the machine in question; though Tom was sure, this hadn't been on the moron's mind when he'd explained that it was the "newest-of-the-new", "state-of-the-art", most expensive dishwasher money could buy.

After that bit of totally unnecessary information, Tom had made sure he'd never have to pay rent. Actually, no one would ever have to pay rent to Mr. Appleberry again, but he hadn't felt the need to share that knowledge with the other tenants.

At least Muggle technology would be used for a "good" cause today.

"Silencio!" he cast nonverbally, not in the mood to listen to the continuous hum or Granger's screams, while he made his preparations for his shift in the hospital that evening.

xXx

Ron rubbed the bridge of his nose as he walked out of the Apparition Room and headed towards Ginny's room.

Everything just seemed to go ... _**wrong**_ these days.

He scrubbed his face with his hands.

He really hadn't meant to be so nasty to Hermione, and he had tried to rein his temper in, but recently, for some reason, there seemed to be an invisible wall between the two of them. Every time he tried to speak to her, apologise to her (though in his opinion, she was at fault most of the time), she would either give him a cold look or start verbally attacking him. Of course, that would inevitably lead to his temper rising, and he would then start thrashing out at her, swiping her with the worst insults he could think of. He knew she probably didn't fancy half of those people he had mentioned, but ... but she should've understood his insecurities. It wasn't the first time he expressed them to her. Even Harry understood him. Why couldn't she?

He pressed his lips into a thin line when he recalled what she had said to him at the Ministry of Magic today.

She knew quite well that it was because of Riddle's locket. He wouldn't have ever gone back to the Burrow if he hadn't been wearing that stupid Horcrux. It was all Riddle's fault. He was ... he was distressed. As if she never had thoughts about leaving Harry alone to the mission—not that he actually knew if she wanted to leave or not, but still, she shouldn't have held that against him. It was wrong for her to even mention the whole incident in the first place.

To hold that against him and call him a coward. That was going way too far. Clenching his jaws together, he resolved to not speak to her again until she apologised.

Of course, what infuriated him even more was that Harry'd decided to speak on Hermione's behalf after they'd got back to Grimmauld's Place.

"Well, perhaps you're better suited for her then," he had given Harry a piece of his mind before stomping into his room.

Therefore, Ron had decided to visit Ginny right after dinner, so that he wouldn't have to face either Hermione or Harry that evening.

He shot the portraits annoyed glares as one of the occupants chased him through the frames, offering help for his "rare form of Devil's Snare poisoning". Great. Instead of someone offering advice to him on how to get rid of spattergroit, he now had someone telling him he'd got Devil's Snare poisoning. After he made a turn around the corner, before he could open his mouth to tell the portrait shut it, a familiar-looking head of bushy hair ahead caught his attention.

He frowned; quite sure that Hermione had not mentioned that she would visit Ginny that evening. Somewhere in the back of his head, he heard a voice telling him that something wasn't quite right. Nevertheless, he still walked over to Ginny's room, ignoring the calls from the portraits, since he kept an eye on where the young woman went. He felt as if someone used a club to hit him over the head when he saw her enter Healer Lewis's office.

No, no. It couldn't be Hermione ... or ... maybe it was?

She was just getting Healer Lewis for Ginny. That was all. He was overreacting, and Hermione hated it when he overreacted.

Taking a huge gulp of breath, he opened the door to Ginny's room, trying to think lighter of things.

His sister sat upright on her bed and flashed him a welcoming smile when she looked up from the book she'd been reading. He was relieved when he saw that. Last time he'd been here, she'd attacked him, accusing him to be Tom Riddle of all people. The nurses had to pull her off of him, for he hadn't wanted to hurt his only sister. The crazy glint in her eyes... He shivered upon remembering it, for he'd never seen an expression like that on Ginny before. It had frightened him, but she seemed in better health today.

He managed to plaster a warm smile on his face.

"How are you feeling?" he asked carefully, wondering why Hermione would feel the need to call the Healer when there was no emergency.

"Alright," Ginny answered as she observed his features. "Is something the matter?"

His frown deepened when he thought about seeing Hermione—or at least, someone very similar to Hermione—walking through the hallways.

"Ginny, was Hermione just here?"

Ginny's eyes immediately turned fierce, much like a lioness ready to attack.

"No," she answered in a clipped tone. "Why would she be here? As if _Riddle_ would care about the state of my health."

Her answer caused an ice-cold feeling to erupt from the pit of stomach to his heart. That meant that Hermione wasn't here to visit Ginny. Was she here...?

The world swirled around him as the image of Hermione and Healer Lewis together formed inside his mind's eye. No, no, no, it had to be someone else ... It had to be someone else. Hermione would never do something like that...

But why did he have that gut feeling it wasn't somebody else?

"Are you even listening to me?" Ginny's irritated voice broke through his thoughts.

He looked up at her, with a look on his face much like a child caught lying.

Ginny huffed. "She's being possessed by Riddle, Ron. Why don't you lot ever believe me?"

He had to find out. He had to know whether that woman was Hermione or not.

"I believe you," Ron lied, knowing that Ginny had already accused a lot of other people of being Riddle as well, including the dead Slughorn, their father, and even Healer Lewis at some point. Hermione had just been the first in a seemingly endless list. The Healer had told them not to go along with her delusions, but Ron had never felt the strength to correct Ginny about it. So, he absentmindedly nodded his head. "Um ... I need to go get a drink of water. I'll be right back."

Without giving her a chance to answer him and knowing she could not follow him out, he opened the door and re-entered the hallway. Ginny didn't need to hear he suspected Hermione from having an affair with her Healer. No doubt, it would trigger one of her Riddle hallucinations again.

Heaving a sigh, Ron quickly and silently moved in the direction of Healer Lewis's office. As he got nearer and nearer to the room, he began to hear soft moans and a sinking feeling made it to his stomach.

When he finally got to the slightly ajar door, he stared at it, pondering if he should even push it open. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath.

"_Coward..._"

Her voice echoed in his head, and he opened his eyes. No, he was not a coward. Taking a step forward, he pushed the door gently with the palm of his hand.

And he froze.

There, half sitting on top of the table and snogging Healer Lewis, was Hermione.

Her arms were wrapped around Lewis's neck, which meant that she was obviously not being forced. Lewis's hand caressed her arms, to which she responded with gentle shivers. Their lips were attached and Ron could clearly see that she enjoyed their kiss. They were so immersed in their activities they didn't even notice Ron was there, watching them.

Ron rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to tell himself it wasn't Hermione, but he knew it was. Anger, humiliation, and sadness washed through Ron, making him feel like roaring to expel the extra feelings. Instead, he turned around and ran down the hallway, away from the scene, away from the pain, and away from the woman he thought he loved.

Therefore, he wasn't there to see Healer Lewis break off the kiss, turn around, and smirk, staring at the spot where Ron had previously stood.

This had been far too easy. The girl had always been susceptible to the Imperius Curse, but this— this had been a piece of cake. Tom turned around and stared at the little Mudblood. She still looked at him with those disgusting lovey-dovey eyes. It made him want to place her under the Cruciatus Curse, had he not enjoyed their snogging session.

A smirk touched his face as he lifted a hand and cupped her cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut and she emitted a sigh. Her cheeks were flushed and her breaths were shallower than usual.

Amused, he wondered what her reactions would be when the curse was taken off her. She wouldn't be surprised to be in his office; they had an unofficial appointment after all, because she had kindly trusted him with her little problem of hearing voices and having lapses of memory at the end of their first meeting. He'd promised to help her without creating a file of her case. She'd been very grateful he'd been so considerate about how a record like it could affect any possible future career she might want to strive at.

However, her being here wouldn't explain her now sitting on his table in the condition she was in, and he really wondered what she would do. He could always undo any damage later if necessary. To satisfy his curiosity, he closed the door behind him with a wave of his hand, warded it thoroughly, and with another wave, he released her from the Imperius. He raised an eyebrow when he realised that she had no intention of moving, even with the curse gone.

This was ... _interesting_, to say the least. He momentarily wondered if Granger really fancied Lewis and the Imperius simply allowed her to drop her shyness and morals.

That promptly made him narrow his eyes. And he was told that she cared about looks.

His eyes flickered back to her slightly parted and swollen lips. A sense of possessiveness washed over him. Of course, he was now _playing_ the part of Healer Lewis, but if she knew who he was...

A low growl nearly escaped his mouth before he remembered that she was no longer under the curse's influence.

Why should he care who she fancied anyway? Annoyed, he pushed that thought away and brought their lips together again, kissing her with more force than necessary, as if he was punishing her. His fingers wrapped themselves tightly in her wild hair, so he could use it as a nicely herbal scented leash and keep her in her rightful place, while his other arm held her firmly around her waist.

Yet ... she still moaned into his mouth and wrapped her arms around his neck again, thoroughly delighting him.

Perhaps there _were _other usages for the Mudblood, other than killing off those annoying morons.

xXx

The next morning, Tom seemed calm, cool, and detached, while he stirred the potion. But inside his mind thoughts whirled like a thunderstorm. His eyes flicked to the blissfully silent cup, which stood on the same table he currently brewed the potion on. He was sincerely thankful she'd stopped badmouthing him, though, he did get unnerved and suspicious by her silence.

_What was that little thing plotting now?_

He didn't like how she continued to oppose him. He wanted her subdued and at his feet, following his every command just like everyone else.

_But they are all so boring_, his mind warned him.

He shook his head, trying to shake the images from yesterday evening, but he was unsuccessful and they whirled in front of his eyes like a movie set on fast-forward. He clutched to the ladle, stirring more forcefully in the potion without thinking about it.

He'd lost control. Sure, he'd been Healer Lewis, but _**he **_had lost control. It was unacceptable. Lord Voldemort never, ever surrendered his control. It was why he was brewing Amortentia—so _he_ could be the one in charge again. Once, she _loooved_ him, or rather, was obsessed about him, she'd do anything he asked of her. Which was precisely what he wanted, needed...

He gazed at the colour change the potion underwent. In three minutes, it would be the required mother-of-pearl sheen, and then, he'd be nearly done. She'd be like—like ... everyone else.

"_**Boring!**_" his mind shouted.

He ignored his mind and continued stirring, noticing the steam rise in spirals.

But his mind didn't like being ignored, seeing as it was _**His**_ mind, so it sent him those images he tried to suppress.

He'd been kissing her with bruising force, angry at the thought she might be enjoying Lewis's company instead of his. When she moaned and snaked her arms around his neck, his first reaction had been feelings of pleasure; but then, he remembered what he looked like and his wand returned in his hand. He had to be sure if she kissed him, because she fancied the Healer. If that was the case, he'd—he'd...

His muscles tightened, grabbing her firmer against him. Merlin, that big belly was annoyingly in the way.

His wandhand moved through her hair, entangling his fingers and wand further in it. "Legilimens!"

He searched her mind non-verbally and was very pleased to find no trace of any affection directed towards Lewis. She responded to him. Their connection was the reason she kissed the Healer. Something in his chest lurched—it was an unusual feeling to him, but he liked it.

Suddenly, Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled herself up against him. He stumbled back, not having seen this coming, and he crashed into the cabinet behind him. Though, he did enjoy the initiative, for she kissed him more ferociously from her now higher perspective than his; so, he released his grip on her hair. He'd been surprised she had made the move, considering the pain it must have caused on her roots.

After that, her lips didn't stay attached to his mouth, but she began trailing kisses all over his face. And not just with her lips, but her teeth grazed his skin as well.

It made him harden, without him planning that to happen.

He'd been too surprised to respond with an appropriately aimed curse, for no one—_no one _ever dared to do something to Lord Voldemort without humbly asking for his consent first.

_She didn't know who he was_, he excused himself for not doing anything about it. _She'd never dared to do this if he'd shown her his true identity._

But a part of him knew it was a cop-out, he actually enjoyed her domineering moves. He enjoyed standing there, while another pleasured him without explicit directives. He enjoyed the way her body felt against his chest as she lowered herself to nibble his neck. He enjoyed not knowing what she would do next. He enjoyed it far too much, because his release took him by surprise and he spilt it in his pants like a moronic schoolboy. And Tom Riddle had never been a moronic schoolboy, never.

_No, this could never happen to Lord Voldemort ever again_, he thought, growling in anger.

_And it never will if you feed her this potion, _his mind rebutted, taunting him.

He froze. For the first time in his entire multiple existence, Lord Voldemort did not know what to do. The potion was finished. He could put it in the cup and feed it to her. He'd used it before, very effectively if he said so himself; Bella had been his most loyal servant after all. But Bella had been an average, normal witch before it, boring just like everyone else.

_Hermione is not boring. _

He knew his thoughts were right about that_. _Filthy little Mudblood she may be, but boring... nope.

He glanced at the cup again. It was still silent. His wandhand itched to find out why, to use Legilimency on her and see what she was plotting. But there was a huge part of him worried that he might find his weakness in her mind, so he refrained.

His nose picked up the smell of the love potion; he smelled parchment, freshly mowed grass, and ... _**a familiar herbal scent! **_

With a frustrated cry, he blew the cauldron to oblivion and paced out the door. He needed some fresh air, desperately.

xXx

Helga Hufflepuff's cup turned on the table, watching him go thoughtfully. Hermione's Horcrux wondered about the strange turn of events. It had been why she'd been silent throughout his Amortentia brewing, despite recognising the despicable draught and fearing what he'd do with it.

She hadn't really had any other strategy before than trying to contact and warn her other self Lord Voldemort was still around. Though the stupid loyalty-valuing Helga Hufflepuff had made it impossible for her to say his name directly, she had tried to send signals. When she couldn't do it, because he was around, she had tried to get him so furious that he would kill her, which would free her real-life body from his influence. But despite that he'd lost his temper around her, he never, ever lost it enough for him to forget about the ramifications of such an action. It had only caused her a great amount of pain.

But now, she'd seen his reactions to her...

_Weird_.

Perhaps the cup's Hufflepuff qualities had affected him, too? He'd been in it longer than her, after all, and they did have a connection now that he used her to "escape" it. So, perhaps she wasn't the only one feeling an inappropriate sense of loyalty?

She sniggered softly at the thought of Lord Voldemort being forced to feel loyalty towards a Mudblood. That must really be infuriating to him.

Still, it made her think another approach was in order. She recalled how successful the locket had been in creating turmoil amongst the three of them. Perhaps she should try something a little more Slytherin-like? A snake's approach might be more effective in gaining her the upper hand in this sordid relationship, because she knew that was what it was—a very bad, totally inappropriate, but still platonic relationship between sworn enemies. For her real self had no idea whom she was snogging, so that didn't count.

Hermione's mind totally blocked out what she had smelled only minutes ago when the love potion was finished; freshly mowed grass, parchment, and something that was definitely not Ron's minty toothpaste.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: ***stares at blinking cursor* Nope, can't think of anything needing to be disclaimed. Nothing at all. After all, there is this "fair use" law, which, of course, only counts in the USA. Where I don't live. Darn. Shoot. I am sunk, and I already live on the bottom of the (former) sea; so yeah, I am definitely pushing my luck here.  
*Wonders how copyright things work in Taiwan*  
Oh well, JKR said it was okay to write fanfics, so... we will use that argument in any legal setting, since we make no money at all and don't own a thing of Potter. *sobs*  
RDR Books, where are you? ;-)

**A/N: **We'd like to thank everyone for reading, faving, alerting, and most of all reviewing; Patie, Holly, Matterhorn, MidnightThief15, Mydia88, Sweet-tang-honney, Vinwin, Sesshomari, EasilyAmusedReader and BlueSkyHeaven.

Holly: It's nice to hear you thought the chapter was great. And I am so jealous. I so want to go to UK on vacation some time soon (Wales and Scotland are definitely on my fav lists of places wanting to go to someday). I already travelled through England and really enjoyed it - such a beautiful country, the nature is wonderful. And I love London, though it's expensive.  
BTW. Better hide that your reading this fanfic there, I am sure JKR would be appalled to see the combination of characters we shipped together. ROFL. Hope you have fun in Edinburgh.

* * *

**The Gold Puppet**

**Chapter Nine**

Harry closed his eyes and listened to the soft splattering of the rain against the window. A gentle knock on the door caused him to turn around.

"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley opened the door slowly and peered inside. "You're up early."

"Yes ... I..."

The rest of his words remained unspoken.

He hadn't slept for most of the night. The past few weeks hadn't been really unbearable. He could always pretend that nothing had happened. Today, however...

"Happy birthday, dear," Mrs. Weasley said with a smile, as she strode into the room over to him and placed a kiss on his cheek.

_Happy birthday, Harry_.

A pain ripped through his heart as he recalled another familiar voice giving him the same well wishes.

He gave her a forced smile and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Thanks. I ... I'm not hungry yet, Mrs. Weasley."

Mrs. Weasley observed his face for a minute and pulled him into her embrace.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered. "Everything will be alright."

He fought back the tears, not wanting to worry her. "I'm alright," he lied.

She pulled away, her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes slightly red. "I'll leave some food for you, just in case you're hungry later," she said, patting him on the side of his head before leaving.

Harry looked out the window again, half of his heart wishing that he would see an unfamiliar owl, an owl from Hogwarts, carrying a package for him. A package from Hagrid.

_Happy birthday, Harry_.

He remembered it had been his eleventh birthday when he'd first met Hagrid. To him, it was a dream come true. He was finally going to leave the Dursleys. After years of wishing, it came true. Even while he was at Hogwarts, Hagrid acted like a guardian to him, taking care of him and watching out for him.

But now...

He shut his eyes tightly, hoping it was a nightmare. Hell, if it meant that Hagrid could be alive, he would willingly duel Lord Voldemort again. Even if it meant that he had to start, all the way from the beginning of his quest for the Horcruxes, he would do it.

But he knew. He knew it was a wish that would never come true.

A soft creak from the door alerted him, and he turned around. Hermione looked up and gave him a weak smile.

"Happy birthday, Harry," she said softly.

"Thanks, Hermione," he replied, returning her smile with one of his own.

They stared at one another. Hermione hadn't cried, not even once, since they'd learnt about Hagrid's death. But Harry knew that she was just as upset about the news, too. With a sigh, he looked away.

The rain continued to beat against the window; Harry remained sitting on his bed, and Hermione stayed next to the door, leaning against the wall. It was almost comforting to Harry, knowing that she was there, sharing the same emotions though with different memories.

"He's ... at a better place now," Harry spoke, his voice barely audible above the rain.

Hermione remained still for a while, before finally nodding.

"I've never doubted it," she replied. "He ... was a wonderful person."

Silence fell again, though the atmosphere felt even heavier than before, almost to the point that Harry couldn't breathe. He frantically reached towards the window and opened it. He inhaled deeply, wanting that stuffy feeling in his chest to go away, but to no avail.

A hand was placed on his shoulder. He turned his head and found that Hermione had moved closer to him. He placed his hand on hers, trying to reassure her that he was alright, though he couldn't even convince himself.

Suddenly, his vision blurred. No ... no, he couldn't cry. Hagrid wouldn't want him to cry. Hagrid would've wanted him to be happy, now that Voldemort was gone. Hagrid wouldn't want to see him upset.

Hagrid ... was gone.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispered, pulling him into her embrace.

Before he could stop them, tears escaped his eyes and fell down his cheeks, and he kept on talking, memories with Hagrid, promises he made to Hagrid, promises Hagrid made to him ... and he couldn't stop crying.

"I ... I didn't ... I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye ..."

He wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist, seeking for the comfort that he needed. The stress he had gone through for the last couple of months completely crashed down through the feeble barricade he had erected against it.

"I know, Harry. I know," Hermione replied, and Harry was surprised to hear her voice crack.

He lifted his head, and with a start, realised that Hermione was crying, too, though she had remained silent.

"Hermione ..."

"I'm alright," she immediately answered, brushing away the tears with the back of her hand. "I'm fine."

She smiled at him, but it didn't work. The smile was so sad that Harry felt the sorrow in his heart erupt again, and tears fell down again.

After a while, they started to calm down, and their sobs slowly turned into sniffles.

"Harry, Mum said—"

Both of them looked up and found Ron standing at the doorway, an expression of worry frozen on his face before it melted into one of coldness and distance.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Ron said, his voice as cold as his face.

"Thanks," Harry answered, pulling away from Hermione. He glanced at her and quickly looked back at Ron. "It's ... we were just upset about Hagrid's death ... that's all ..."

Ron's eyes dimmed at the mention of their half-giant friend, and his expression softened.

"Yeah ... I'll ... I'll go tell Mum that you're not hungry yet," he muttered.

He, then, turned around and walked out of the room. However, as he entered the hallway, Hermione could swear that she saw him shoot her a glare of loathing. Before she could ask why, the door closed with an audible click.

xXx

Walking into the Leaky Cauldron, she gave Tom the innkeeper a polite smile before making her way towards the entrance of Diagon Alley. The pub was half filled today; some witches chatted in the corner, while a couple of wizards were in the centre of the room, talking loudly about the latest Quidditch match.

The warm and cosy atmosphere, however, did not help Hermione at all. On top of the fact that Ron was still a prat to her, she was also worried about the lapses of memories she was still experiencing. Although they weren't as frequent as before (as Healer Lewis had assured her would happen), she was afraid that it might happen again. Therefore, she had been secretly visiting him for weeks now. She didn't want Harry to worry anymore than he already did, so she'd kept it to herself.

Besides, she saw a professional.

Lewis had told her it all came down to stress. Her mind and body were exhausted from the war, and she dealt with all the horrible things she had experienced in a manner that was best suited for her. He had claimed that the lapses were probably not real lapses. Her mind was deliberately pushing back memories she wasn't ready to deal with yet. If something triggered such an unwanted memory, it would cause her to black out; but it would only be temporarily, he'd reassured her, eventually the memories would resurface when she was ready. It sounded perfectly plausible and he had made her feel somewhat more at ease about them.

But there were also the voices; though, they had disappeared completely now. She still recalled how she had heard both her own and Riddle's voice in her head. Again, the Healer had said it was her mind's method of coping, using the voice of her enemy and herself as antagonists to voice both sides of what she felt herself. He'd mentioned that the more creative and intelligent someone was, the more chance there was of their minds using an unconventional method to heal. According to him, the voices hadn't been real; they only seemed real since the mind was the most powerful thing a person owned.

She'd wanted to believe him and the man was famous in this area of expertise. But still, there was this slight doubt in the back of her mind, whenever she recalled how much those voices seemed to sound real. How much they seemed to enter her mind, not originate from it. And occasionally, she would ponder if Ginny had been correct. Had she been possessed by Riddle? That thought alone made shivers go up and down her spine. However, Voldemort couldn't still be alive, could he? Harry would've known if that bastard was still alive. Harry had always known.

No, Healer Lewis had to be right.

Besides, he had no reason to lie to her and he was an incredibly kind and caring man. Hermione blushed as she remembered how she had been so upset with Ron's continuous jealous behaviour and how he had made her life miserable that when Lewis had been so understanding, she had grabbed him and kissed him. And not for a second, no, she had climbed into his arms and would have gone much further had the courteous Healer not stopped her from making a complete fool of herself. He had kindly let her down.

She smiled.

George had really picked the right Healer for Ginny. She'd never met such a gentle, generous, considerate, professional man in her life. And he had really helped her. She felt much better these days, less memory lapses and no more voices. Hopefully, Ginny would recover soon, too. She'd hoped to go to Hogwarts together with her, but that seemed to be idle hope this year.

Well, maybe Ginny could go next year?

The sign of Flourish and Blotts swayed in the wind. A small crack through the H showed its age, and glancing at it with fondness, Hermione grabbed the door handle. She hadn't been here since the end of her sixth year and she'd missed it. The bell tinkled and she stepped inside, taking a basket from the pile next to the door and pulling her long list from her pocket. Taking a deep sniff of the musty air of books, she lingered for a moment before proceeding to the Charms' section on her left.

xXx

"It's not going to be in there," the cup in his vest's breast pocket said cheerfully when he picked up '_Norwegian Runes; the 105__th __edition, translated to modern English by Rhoswen Ellefsen_' at Flourish and Blotts.

Tom Riddle sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, while closing his eyes. Someday, sometime, somewhere, preferably in the most immediate future, he would have every part of Hermione Granger all to himself, and then, he would show her the true meaning of pain. To think he had thought her constant badmouthing him had been annoying.

At first, he'd been pleased when she suddenly started to converse normally. He'd thought it was a clear sign of her surrender; he'd thought she had come to understand that she was his, until he came to realise she just never seemed to stop babbling.

No, this—this was truly aggravating.

He felt a severe headache coming up from her constant and incessant chattering. Never, ever before in his entire lifetime had he encountered a girl this bossy. She was such an aggravating know-it-all. Always making comments about everything, always having a different opinion, always ridiculing his choices, always being just the most troublesome cup he ever had to carry around everywhere—on top of all that, he couldn't leave her alone for a second without her doing something unfavourable.

What was most infuriating was that the little chit disagreed with every minor decision he made and voiced said disagreement, loudly.

Now, seeing she was his enemy and a goody-two-shoes Gryffindor, that was to be expected; but she didn't question his morals or his goals or _**what**_ he did. She questioned _**how**_ he did something, and there had been times when she had even made him doubt himself if only for a brief moment.

This had never happened to him before. He was Tom Marvolo Riddle, the smartest student that Hogwarts had ever seen. He was Lord Voldemort, the greatest and most feared wizard of all, and Lord Voldemort bloody well knew how to do any and all things related to magic. Lord Voldemort did not need to be told _how_ he should achieve his goals.

But this little slip of a girl would always, _**always**_ have a rebuttal when he explained to her his methods of doing things were the only right way. It made him want to pull his hair out by its roots when she, in response, would go on, and on, and on, about how it could have been done far easier or more expediently or whatever other reason she would launch at him, thinking she was disproving his rightful point. And then, she would snort haughtily.

Yes, haughtily, as if _he_ was mistaken, as if _she_ won the argument.

He felt a sharp pain on his head and realised he'd pulled on his roots a bit too harshly. Letting go of his hair before it would really be in his hand instead of on his head, he glared at the cup, which just peeked over the rim of his pocket. Its rubies twinkled in the light, taunting him. Blasted woman.

_Perhaps my other self had known her and that's why he had turned bald?_

For after he'd been in the company of this new and "improved" version of Hermione for mere moments, he had already considered destroying her Horcrux a zillion times. After a couple of weeks, he had begun to refer back to the times where she merely called him names as the good old days in his mind, because this happy, "helpful", accommodating act was severely getting on his nerves.

Yes, it was an act.

He was Tom Marvolo Riddle, the master of deceit and facades; he recognised a performance when someone tried to pull one. And the Mudblood tried to pull one on him! It made him livid and drove him absolutely crazy.

"As if you weren't crazy before," the cup taunted in his mind. "Now, you do have this specialist tucked away underneath your sink; why don't you take advantage of the situation and get some free psychological advice?"

The growl escaped his mouth. His mental health state had always been a sore topic for him ever since he was a little boy, but he hadn't planned to show _**her**_ he was unable to keep his cool. So, to keep some form of control over the situation, he, deliberately, tucked the book she'd discarded as the wrong one under his arm and turned on his heels to move to the counter.

"Okay, take that one. But I am telling you '_Runes of the World_' is by far the more comprehensive volume on this subject. However, if you can't read the runes without someone handing you the _translation_," she said with a clear condescending emphasis on the last part of that sentence, "then I suppose Ellefsen's work is more suitable, for _you_."

He narrowed his eyes upon hearing her say that. Lord Voldemort didn't need a translated version.

How had this woman ever survived Hogwarts? Why hadn't any or all of her classmates ever cursed her into oblivion? Instead of forcing Draco Malfoy to fix that stupid Vanishing Cabinet, he probably should've told the boy to strangle the girl in her sleep. Though, it was possible that she might've babbled Draco to his death first. If she'd been around in his day and age, he would have sicced his pet on her, and then, resurrected her only so he could have the pleasure of killing her a second time, and a third, and maybe even a fourth.

For he couldn't shut the blasted cup up.

Well, technically he could. It wasn't that difficult to silence a Horcrux permanently without destroying the soul within, but the side effect of it would be that he would lose all insight into what went on around her real-life self.

He recalled how connected he had been to his first Horcrux before he made more than one of them and he knew that same connection existed for Hermione Granger, so he'd made good use of it. The influence he had on the unsuspecting woman already began to show the first signs of success. It had been even more apparent when they had met at the hospital how much influence he already had over the Mudblood. She'd been so pliable to his will, it had been astonishing.

However, the more success he had with Granger, the more her Horcrux freed itself from him. He should have thought of it beforehand. It was only logical after all, so logical that he had overlooked it. He had to choose whom he wanted to keep under control, Granger or her Horcrux.

Seeing how they weren't together, he couldn't punish them simultaneously. If he cast at the Horcrux to punish it for its insolence, he had to focus his magic, so it wouldn't travel to Granger and rouse suspicion among those in her environment. Her friends might find it odd if she was suddenly thrashing and writhing on the floor, screaming in agony.

And if he wanted to magically influence Granger, he had to focus so the Horcrux wouldn't take the blunt of the blow, or worse, usurp all of it, as it had quickly learnt to achieve.

No, the Mudblood proved to be a far more trying adversary than he had envisioned beforehand.

Of course, a simple Silencing Charm would also do the trick of stopping the noise of her babbling, but it would do only that—stop the noise not the actual babbling. And the blasted woman had somehow found a way to use their connection to sneak into his mind if she couldn't chat out loud. She really was too clever for her own good.

Also, when she didn't babble, she usual did something ill-advised; so, any silence on her end was grounds for extreme paranoia on his.

It was a catch-22 situation either way he looked at it. Suffer her babbling or suffer her silence and risk her doing something behind his back. He'd chosen the insolent babbling; at least then, he could keep some track of what her mind focused on.

However, he had to find a way to fix the situation soon, or else he might turn bald again like his other self, or cause irreparable damages to his plans.

"I should warn you that the explanation given to the Odin rune is obviously misguided," Hermione said, halting his forward motion. "It supports the theory that it's a resurrection rune when it clearly is the rune of death."

"Many have theorised the Odin rune is based on resurrection."

"Of course, _**you **_would think that," she said disparagingly. "The myth of Odin resurrecting by Mirmir's potion is legendary. It's why the faulty assumption that "unknowable" stood for this amazing feat had come to exist. However, in 1985, you know when you were mist in the woods," she added, mockery dripping all over her voice, "Thurston Odegaard proved that "unknowable" meant "death", since death is the next great unknown to us all."

"Spent too much time around the old coot, have we?"

"Odegaard didn't just theorise about his translation; he proved it in an experiment with the veil," Hermione said smugly. "You can read all about it in '_Runes of the World_', the book you should be buying."

"I know what you're trying to do here, Hermione Granger. You're trying to manipulate me in buying the wrong books in order to prevent me from regaining my immortality."

"Then buy them both and see for yourself. You know I am right as I always am," she said arrogantly. "Unless of course you can't afford—" she paused, freezing up when she heard a familiar voice speaking only an aisle away.

"Hermione Granger!" Ron called out shortly.

For a second, the Horcrux thought he meant her, neglecting how distant and cold the voice was. Confusion and fear washed over her. How had he found out? Had he gone insane? Surely, he wasn't considering taking Riddle on by himself?

But then, someone else replied, and the cup let out a sigh in relief.

"Ron," Hermione said cheerfully, putting down the book in her hand when she saw him walking up to her.

If he had come to see her, perhaps he wanted to make amends? She had no idea what had caused him to stop his jealous ranting and turn into a Popsicle overnight. But these last weeks had been a nightmare for everyone. And now, not that long after the incident at Harry's birthday... Well, for all concerned, including Harry, it would be more pleasurable if they, at least, could be on speaking terms again. So, she decided to act as normal as possible, like nothing was wrong.

"Did you se-"

"Mum wanted me to hand you this," Ron replied coolly, holding out a note.

"Oh," she said, somewhat disappointed, while accepting it. "What's it about?"

"Lost the ability to read?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows and opened the note. She read it quickly and looked back at Ron. It was a barely veiled attempt of Mrs. Weasley to get them somewhere together again. Ron's mother had tried to mend their relationship for weeks now with her dreadful, unsubtle matchmaking skills.

"Your mum wants us to meet her in the Leaky Cauldron after we're done shopping."

"I know, so how much longer do you have to be here?" Ron asked, glancing at her full basket. "Surely, you've put every book on the shelve in there by now. And I want this over and done with rather sooner than later."

Tom chuckled softly and pulled the cup from his pocket. "Now this is interesting, isn't it? What will I do with such a wonderful opportunity?" he whispered against the rim.

To his delight, the cup shivered as his breath blew over it. "What, no repartee? You disappoint me, Hermione. Aren't you going to tell me _**how**_ I should handle this situation to the gain the best possible outcome?"

"No?" he said tauntingly after it stayed silent. "Fortunately, Lord Voldemort knows exactly how to take advantage of fortuitous occurrence. Silencio!" he cast at the Horcrux. Before he pocketed it again, he whispered, "Let us enjoy eavesdropping on the lovely couple, dear. It's so clear you two were meant to be," he said snidely. "Even the mother hen thinks so," he chuckled before disillusioning himself just to be on the safe side; Weaselbee had seen him before after all.

Ron had his arms crossed over his chest and his head turned to one side, while he glanced at her askew. Hermione faced him, her face filled with hurt and annoyance.

"Well, I am not done yet," Hermione snapped to Ron. "I haven't been inside a bookstore in ages, and there are tons of new books. Look at all the new Arithmancy volumes." Her excitement over her precious books made her forget they weren't really on speaking terms and Ron hadn't exactly met her halfway in her attempts to be civil. "I love Arithmancy. Here, look, Gobrin has solved the fifth dilemma of numerical sequencing last fall. It's unbelievable; people have been searching for that solution for centuries—and I missed it happening, the discovery of the century."

"So, someone learnt to add, big deal," Ron said deliberately dismissive.

However, she was so enthusiastic about what she was reading that she overlooked the undertone of his voice.

"Oh, you don't get it. You didn't take Arithmancy. It's like the first time men walked on the moon."

"Men walked on the moon?" asked Ron, wide-eyed, before recalling he wasn't supposed to be nice to Hermione and recapturing his cool.

Hermione rolled her eyes, not noticing he'd dismissed her already again, because her nose was in the Arithmancy volume.

"Yes, Ron, you really should have taken Muggle Studies." Behind her back, Ron re-enacted her words with a sneer and a mocking admonishing bossy Hermione-nod of his head. "Apollo 11 went to the moon in 1969. And people all over the world stayed up to watch it happening on their television—to see history being written before your eyes. Gobrin wrote history with this book and I missed the ability to obtain a first edition. Look, this is already a revised edition," she said, disappointed.

"Well, then you didn't spend money on the wrong text," Ron stated, irritated he was being lectured to again, and he didn't understand what the fuss was all about. It was just a book, after all.

She sighed, shaking her head. Ron really could be daft at times.

Ron noticed her expression and bristled. "Maybe you'd rather someone else was here, being all understanding and so on," he paraphrased some of Hermione's words.

"Oh, subtle," Tom commented, leaning with his disillusioned shoulder against the shop's shelves.

"Harry broke down on his birthday, and this is how you act?" asked Hermione furiously, while trying to hold back the tears in her eyes. "This is all you can think of? That Harry and I mourned his loss together? We... _I _hadn't cried over Hagrid before, you know."

Somewhat embarrassed, Ron looked sideways. He hadn't been referring to Harry or the situations involving Hagrid's death. He hadn't thought about that. He'd meant Lewis. He'd seen Hermione enter that ... that polar bear's office more than once after that time he'd spotted them together, and it had infuriated him. It still did. Who was she to lecture him? He wasn't snogging another. Maybe he should, that would serve her right.

"You know what? I am going," Ron snapped, walking away abruptly.

"Are you sure you _dare_ to stand your mummy up?" Hermione jeered behind his back.

"Ouch," Tom sniggered.

Ron froze. Without turning around, he said icily, "I don't understand why you spent any time searching for textbooks. It's not like you'll be needing them this year. They'll make you pass your N.E.W.T.'s with flying colours even if you stink at the subject. You might finally get that O for Defence now, friend of Harry Potter," he sneered. "Maybe that's why you're friends with him, so he can help boost your grades? Because we all know how much you suck at communicating normally with people, so it must be really important for you to keep him as a friend if you're making that much an effort."

Without looking back, Ron paced out the shop.

Tom clenched his teeth together; his hand was in his pocket, fingers curled around his wand. He suddenly felt the distinct need to curse the redhead into oblivion. He felt vaguely disloyal when he refrained from the urge, knowing he couldn't out himself over something so whimsical in nature. But when he heard the soft restraint sobs coming from the other aisle, he was sorry the dunderhead had already left the store for there was this one curse—his personal favourite—that he'd love to use on pumpkin brains right about now.

And what was the matter with him? Ugh... stupid Hufflepuff, he definitely had spent too much time in that cup if he felt the need to be loyal to any other being but him.

But still, when Weasley's time came, he'd make sure to take the time to explain to him that only he was allowed to hurt his property.

Yesss, he most definitely would.

He undid his Disillusionment Charm before the real Hermione would see him and wonder if he was trying to steal something. He hadn't forgotten she could look straight through his charm now. He waited for her to pay for her items before moving to the counter himself. On his way out of the aisle, he halted, took a couple of steps back, and grabbed "_Runes of the World_" from the shelf, too, ignoring the little triumphant twist the cup made in his pocket.

xXx

Leaving Flourish and Blotts, Hermione moved towards Magical Menagerie. She needed a new travel basket for Crookshanks since he had found a method to unlock the old one. On her way there, she passed Knockturn Alley. Out of habit, she glanced into the notorious street, and saw a tall, redhead move around a corner.

Was that ... Ron?

What was Ron doing in Knockturn Alley?

She stared in the direction where he had disappeared into. It was near the shop with the gigantic spiders. Not exactly the place you'd expect Ron Weasley to go to. Scratching her head in doubt, she contemplated moving on. It wasn't her business after all.

But her curiosity got the better of her and she walked into the unusually silent Knockturn Alley, wondering if she made the right choice. When she got to the shop with the spiders and looked around, she saw no sign of him. Hermione sighed and wanted to hit herself on her head. Now, instead of voices and lapses of memories, she began to see things?

She turned on her heels when she heard a groan, coming from a very familiar voice.

"Oh yes," moaned Ron.

Hermione froze. Slowly, she turned back and skulked on. First, she checked the narrow alley next to the spiders' shop; but an old tramp sat on the ground, inhaling Blissflower Potion through a waterpipe.

"Just a bit more," Ron groaned.

The sound came from behind the next building. Hermione moved along cautiously and slightly apprehensive. She pulled out her wand and disillusioned herself. She had a dreaded gut feeling about what she was about to witness, and she didn't want to be seen. When she came to the corner, she almost went back.

"Almost there."

Ron's restraint voice made her move on and when she peeked around the corner, it was what she feared she would see. For there stood her former boyfriend, pressing a hooker up against the filthy wall of the shrunken heads' shop, and fucking her for all he was worth. Hermione just stood there, watching, the truth not sinking in, until Ron screamed out his release, and she ran, crying.

Her vision blurry from her tears, she ran so hard that she didn't see where she was going. Hermione totally forgot that she had disillusioned herself, so that others could not see and avoid her as she went. So, she ran into him at full speed. They tumbled to the cobbles hard, and she cried out as her knee impacted on the solid stone, but the majority of her fall got cushioned by him, as she fell right on top of the sinewy stranger who let out an agonised grunt.

"I am sorry; I am so sorry," Hermione rushed out her apologies, while scrambling to her hand and knees rapidly, undoing the Disillusionment Charm with a flick of her wand. "I forgot about the charm."

"Clearly," a rasped male voice said, amused.

She looked into his face and almost stopped breathing, for he had the most beautiful dark brown eyes she had ever seen. Not to mention that the rest of him was quite as appealing as his eyes. And those eyes turned concerned when they took in her tear-stricken face.

"Are you alright, Miss?" his rasped voice asked.

Did he smoke? His voice sounded like it. She really hated it when people had that disgusting habit. But his clothes didn't smell of it. He actually smelled quite nice, an almost intoxicating musk swerved around him. She'd never smelled anything like it. It made her want to jump him, right here, right now.

A frown creased his flawless forehead. "Miss?"

"Yes, yes," she replied, shaking herself out of her ridiculous stare and thoughts. Merlin, he must think she was a moron. "I should be asking you that," she said, getting off of him reluctantly.

"Well, I am fine. I'd say it's my lucky day," he replied, scrambling to his feet and pulling her along with him.

He was quite a bit taller than her, she noted. Tall, dark and handsome, her mind automatically came up with—a deadly combination according to her mother.

"I don't often get run over by pretty ladies, never actually." And he gave her a charming smile that made her heart skip a beat. "You're bleeding," he pointed out.

Hermione looked down at her scraped knee. "Oh, it'll heal," she replied shrugging.

When, suddenly, she noticed movement around the corner she had run away from. Ron came out of there, his head still turned to the alley behind him.

"Oi," she gasped, turning the stranger around so his tall figure blocked her from view. "I—I—"

The dark-haired man looked over his shoulder and watched Ron arguing to the hooker, who had exited the alley also. Apparently, there was some disagreement about the amount of payment required. A broad fellow joined the hooker, and Ron's hand went to his pocket where his wand lay.

"—Don't want to be seen," the handsome stranger finished understandingly. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders (blocking her from view), and quickly, guided her into the pub's hallway across the street.

Hermione sighed in relief when they made it there without being seen. "Thank you. I owe you one."

"Why don't you buy me a drink and we'll call it even," he said in his rasped voice, smiling broadly at her.

She looked through the glass doors into the questionable establishment doubtfully. "Here?"

"Sure," he replied, leaning towards her ear. "I know the proprietor, so you don't have to worry about filthy glasses or watered-down drinks."

Smiling, she shrugged, ignoring the tingles that went from her ear to the bottom of her spine. "Okay, since it's your choice."

"Follow me," he ordered, resting his hand on her back to guide her along.

Hermione had no idea what she was getting into as Tom Riddle opened the door for her and let her inside the shabby, dubious place.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer**: Well ... if we do own the HP series, we wouldn't be writing fanfics and we wouldn't be writing Tom/Hermione ... because Tom will be ... *look at each other and starts sniggering evilly*.

**A/N**: Thanks to all of you for reading, faving, alerting, and most of all reviewing: Aastha Panit, eldarwen melwasul, BlueSkyHeaven, Holly, WeBuildThenWeBreak, gloria, sesshomari, matterhorn, MidnightThief15, Vinwin, patie, JaceDamian23.

Holly: We certainly do agree. We were just chatting about it the other day, about how it's funny how Hermione and LV never really meet in canon. We guess it's because JKR already foresee how easily Hermione would be attracted to LV ;). Thanks for reading and reviewing and hope you enjoy this chapter!

Gloria: Yeah, that's never fun to witness, but eh... at least Hermione can move on now (to that person we'd like her to be with). *grins* Thanks for reviewing.

* * *

**The Gold Puppet**

**Chapter Ten**

The first thing Hermione noticed, when she entered the bar, was how warm it was inside; she assumed it was because of the crowdedness. It was relatively large, compared to how it looked from the outside. Tables were randomly placed throughout the rest of the area, and booths lined two of the walls, while the cabinets and shelves of different bottles of drinks stood against the wall directly across from the entrance, with a bar table in front of it. Most of the seats were already filled except for the booth in the far corner, which struck her as odd seeing it seemed to be the most private, comfortable, and cleanest space in the entire shady setting.

A cloud of smoke engulfed her, and she was thrown into a round of coughing fits. A hand was immediately placed over her nose and mouth, blocking the sensations.

"The smoke from Whomping Willow leaves aren't the best things for one's health," he explained quietly.

His magic swirled around her, making her sway slightly, but he steadied her with a carefully placed hand in her side and allowed her to lean her back against him. She didn't have time to contemplate on their intimate posture, for a cool sensation ran through her nose and straight to her lungs as his hand slid down from her face to her chin. Their contact made Hermione's cheeks turn a deep shade of red, especially when his fingers seemingly lingered on her lips. Thankfully, she could now breathe freely due to her handsome companion's spell, so she took a slow, deep breath in an attempt to slow down her heartbeat and the fluttering in her stomach.

She shot an irritated look at the table where the smoke came from, but the occupants there were, obviously, oblivious to it.

Similar to Blissflower Extract, Whomping Willow leaves also caused hallucinations. However, Whomping Willow leaves allowed the smoker to see hallucinations that he or she desired. Therefore, the price tag on the leaves was much higher than that on the extract. Nevertheless, the Ministry strongly prohibited the Whomping Willow leaves from being privately sold.

Trying to distract herself, she glanced back at the young man. "Aren't you afraid of the smoke?"

"I've got used to it," he replied, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

A frown appeared on her forehead at the notion that he did smoke, and something that was very illegal. He must have noticed the look on her face despite the minimal lighting in the bar, because he chuckled.

"I don't smoke it," he clarified, "but I do come here often, ever since my second year at Hogwarts, so the immunity does build up over time."

"Oh," she replied, a sense of relief washing over her.

What was wrong with her? Why should she care about whether he smoked or not? It really was none of her business. So, she bit her lower lip to stop herself from further enquiring about more personal details about him.

To hide her discomfort, she lowered her head and walked forward, failing to see the satisfied look on his face as he followed behind her with his hand now on the small of her back. When she tried to stop and sit down at the first available empty table, his hand slid from her back to her side again and his other hand came to rest on her shoulder, preventing her from sitting down. She looked back over her shoulder at him, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

He nodded to the empty booth in response.

"It's reserved for someone," Hermione replied, pointing with her finger to the folded card on the table. She'd just spotted it as they'd got closer.

The right corner of his mouth curved up. "I did tell you I know the owner of this place," he reminded her courteously before he made her walk on with just a little pressure of his hand on her body.

_He'd be an excellent partner to dance with, _she considered when she realised how easily she'd taken his lead. "So, you were on your way here when I bumped into you?"

"Yes," he lied smoothly, despite the scraping sound of his voice, but she didn't need to know that table had been and always would be reserved for Lord Voldemort. "Though, I didn't count on having such a lovely companion."

He sent her a charming smile, as she turned to him when they reached the booth. Shyly, Hermione looked down. Gee, what was the matter with her? Some handsome bloke gave her a compliment, and suddenly, she didn't know what to say anymore?

"Ladies first," he said, gesturing at the booth's seat.

"Thank you," she replied politely and sat down, expecting him to take the opposite bench, but he didn't; he moved right next to her.

"I prefer facing a crowd as this," he explained casually. "Sometimes it can get violent in here."

Hermione nodded. It was why she had chosen the bench against the wall as well. She had already seen some of the stares in her direction, and being Hermione "_Potter's Mudblood_" Granger, she sure as hell wasn't moving to the other side in a place filled with possible people who might have a problem with her existence—no matter if she was stuck in the corner now. She glanced at the alluring man next to her. There was just something about him that attracted attention, something that she couldn't place her finger on, and it wasn't just his looks.

"I don't even know your name," she blurted out as the realisation struck her.

That enchanting smile reappeared on his face again as he held out his hand.

"Seth," he said.

"Hermione," she replied, taking his outstretched hand and feeling his long slender fingers curl around hers. "Do you play piano?" she asked, and then, wanted to sink into the soft leather bench for blurting that out since it clearly showed that she was noticing the tiniest of details about him.

An amused glint flashed through his eyes and he shook his head.

"Unfortunately, I've never got enough time to learn," he answered. "I've been too busy sticking my nose into books."

Hermione's eyes visibly brightened at the mention of her favourite objects.

"You like to read, too?"

"Of course," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Most of the males I know only care about Quidditch," she countered.

"Mmm," he merely replied with a small upward curve of his mouth. "They can't be too bright then."

She giggled and was about to say something when a rather short, light-grey haired man with a dirty apron rushed over to them, his eyes solely on the man she was with. He opened his mouth, "Mi—"

Tom held up his hand and leaned forward, sending the proprietor a cold, warning glare that would have frozen freshly erupted lava. "How many times do I need to remind you not to call me Mister MacDougal, Marty? It's Seth."

"So—sorry, Seth," Marty quickly responded; his many wrinkles set apologetically. "I—I—"

"No need to tell me the specials, Marty. I'll have a steak, medium rare, with a bottle of your finest wine."

"And what can I get—?" The man turned his head to Hermione and his eyes widened.

"I trust you recognise Miss Hermione Granger, one of the people who contributed the most towards the downfall of,"—a mocking smile, that went unnoticed by Hermione but not by their elderly waiter, appeared on his face—, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Oh ... Miss Granger ... uh ..." His eyes flashed between He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and her, while his mouth was slightly ajar.

"Really, Marty, you're being rude. You're acting like you've never seen a famous person before. She'll have the same as me," Tom ordered shortly. "Thank you, Marty."

Before Hermione could object, Marty had already walked away.

"I am not hungry," Hermione said, looking at Seth somewhat annoyed. As if she couldn't choose what she wanted herself, and she'd been the one who'd offered him a drink, not an entire bleeding bottle plus meal.

"Well, you may be feeling that way now, but I'd feel better if you put some food inside of you. You obviously had a bit of a shock earlier, and trust me, once you've eaten something, it will help."

Hermione didn't answer, but it was obvious from the stubborn look on her face and the way she stared straight forward, that she wasn't convinced.

"Should I apologise for ordering for you?" Tom said with a teasing undertone. "I just thought you'd be happier if I got rid of Mr. Subtle quickly. I imagine all the silly stares you get from people, just because you're Harry Potter's best friend, can get rather tiresome."

She sighed. "Yeah, they can be."

She quieted, still not looking in his direction. She had been upset about him ordering for her first, but now another scary thought had risen. He'd known who she was all along. What if he told some reporter about how he had found her in Knockturn Alley? What if everything about her relationship with Ron would become front page news? How he had preferred to fuck some hooker over her? Skeeter would pay good money for this information just to spite her. Nervously, her fingers fiddled with her skirt, trying to iron out some of the crinkles. Would he be the type to tell or could she trust him to keep it a secret? She really didn't know the first thing about this man, and most of the blokes she had known in her life ... well, they weren't exactly the most discreet people out there—Harry being the only positive exception to that rule.

Her eyes darted sideways, only to be caught by his presentation of himself. He'd taken off his outer robe, which lay neatly folded on the other bench, and he'd shifted his posture, angled it sideways toward her, giving her a good view of his impeccably ironed, short-sleeved, white shirt and a teasing glimpse of his sinewy chest since the top three buttons were left undone. He had nice looking arms, she noted, not overly muscular but also not too skinny. He'd crossed his long legs, making the fabric of his black pants almost brush her legs. His elbow leaned on the backrest, giving support to the palm of his hand, which cupped his head. His fingers were embedded in his short black locks, undoing the overly neat hairdo, while his other hand rested casually on his knee. When her eyes moved back up, she found his dark brown gaze upon her, and for some reason, she just couldn't look away.

"What's bothering you?" his low rasped voice asked oh so gently, breaking the trance she was in.

"You've known who I was all along?" she enquired, her voice barely higher than a whisper.

Nodding slightly, he said, "Your face was on the front page of the Daily Prophet a couple of times. It was hard to miss." He withdrew his hand from his hair and placed it on the backrest behind her, leaning in further. "I thought you'd be aware of your fame by now. It's why I thought you didn't want people to see you in that situation with your boyfriend, so it wouldn't make headlines tomorrow. I am truly sorry if that's made you uncomfortable around me. I didn't mean to keep it a secret that I knew your identity. I thought it was obvious I would know who you are." He withdrew away from her completely, uncrossed his legs, and faced forward. His previous intimate, considerate tone turned formal. "I'll call Marty and tell him to scratch the order. You don't need to stay here with me."

"No," she said hastily, placing her hand on his upper arm.

Tom looked back at her questioningly.

"No," she repeated certainly, "it's alright. It's not your fault. I just overreacted. I was worried ..."

She felt her eyes beginning to tear up again, and she couldn't finish her sentence out of fear of falling apart. It had been so humiliating to find Ron like that. They'd never even got to do it together and he preferred that foul, old, filthy-looking prostitute over her? She dropped her head, hiding her face behind her bushy hair. Apparently, she wasn't fooling anyone, because a handkerchief was held out towards her silently. She accepted it gratefully and dried up her tears before blowing her nose.

"Thanks," she whispered, staring at the handkerchief in her clasped hands, not wanting to hand him a snotty cloth back. She reached for her wand.

"Keep it," he said gently. "Ah food!" he called out loud in a diversion tactic when he saw the proprietor approaching. "It's about time, Marty. I wondered if you still had to catch the cow."

Marty let out a nervous chuckle and placed the plates on the table before them, while Hermione avoided looking at the man.

"My finest Bordeaux," he added, showing the bottle to Lord Voldemort.

"Mmm," he groaned, frowning. "Well, I suppose I can't expect miracles here. It'll do."

Relieved, Marty waved his wand around. The bottle uncorked and poured wine in both glasses that appeared on the table instantaneously. Marty placed the bottle next to Lord Voldemort's plate. "Is there anything else I can get you, M—Seth?"

"Just some privacy, Marty, and put it all on my tab will you?"

Hermione's head swivelled up.

"Naturally," Marty replied, scurrying away in a hurry.

"_**I **_was supposed to buy you a drink," she said accusatory.

Tom smirked at her. "This,"—he waved over the table—, "is not a drink."

"That's not the point," she hissed.

"It's not a lady's job to buy men drinks," said Tom, deliberately condescending.

Hermione bristled, not noticing his amusement that was concealed fabulously.

"And what is _**that**_ suppose to mean?" she asked angrily, turning to him.

_Perhaps she could punch something out of alignment in that perfection he seemed to strive at._

"Let's eat before it gets cold, Hermione," he replied, satisfied his distraction had caused her to forget her sorrows. "We can argue about it later."

He began cutting his steak before she had a chance to reply. Her mouth half ajar, she snapped it shut and shook her head. Unbelievable. One minute he would do something really nice and the next he would act like a ... a ... a male chauvinistic pig. Yes, that was it. Men, blech.

She stabbed the cow on her plate with her knife and fork more violently than necessary to cut it, and beside her, someone's shoulders shook slightly with contained laughter. After a couple of pieces of surprisingly good meat and nicely seasoned potatoes, she had to admit she did feel a lot better. Of course, she wasn't going to share _that_ with Mr. Sexist over here. No, no need to—

"I propose a toast," Tom said lightly, picking up his wineglass by the stem and successfully stopping her thoughts.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "On what?" she asked, picking up her glass anyway.

"On very ... _entertaining _company," he teased, winking at her.

She scowled. He clinked their glasses together before she could react and drank the wine, while his eyes danced with merriment at her expense.

Realization dawned on her face, though it didn't appease her annoyance at him. Not in the least.

"You ... you did that on purpose? Ooh, that's so—so ..."

"Evil?" he suggested, sniggering. "You do know it's custom to drink after a toast?"

She could barely hold in the growl. Really. He obviously was impossible to be around. She downed the entire glass at once, causing him to raise an eyebrow. He leaned towards her, while his wand waved around, refilling her glass.

"I know it's not exactly quality wine, but that's the first time I ever saw someone down wine all in one go."

"Then you've obviously not seen much of the world." Hermione sniffed humorously, and she downed the second glass right after it, causing her body to flush from the heat that spread quickly with the alcohol rushing through her system. "There, now you've seen it twice." She refilled her glass herself, while adding mockingly, "And who knows? I might make it a pattern."

The third glass went the same road of least resistance, and she giggled at his stunned expression. "Apparently, I am a free woman again," she exclaimed in a forced carefree style. "So, I can celebrate and do what I want. This is a surprisingly good steak ... wouldn't expect it in a dump like this," she murmured, before putting another piece in her mouth.

They both finished their plates, while Hermione refilled the now empty bottle with a flick of her wand and poured them both some more wine.

"I knew a Morag MacDougal," Hermione recalled. "She was in my Arithmancy class, Ravenclaw. Family of yours?"

"My little sister," Tom said, restrained.

"Oh, she was really nice. How is she?"

He stared at the table, his hand clenched into a fist, causing his knuckles to turn white.

"Dead, as well as the rest of my family."

Hermione froze in her movement. Horror filled her face, while she looked at the completely blank expression of the man sitting next to her. Slowly, she put the glass down.

_Too much wine__.__ I am making stupid remarks,_ she scolded herself. "I am sorry."

"You couldn't know," Tom said quietly. "So many have died..."

"How did—?"

"How did I survive?" he finished her question humourlessly. "Stupid luck. I wasn't home."

They stared at their empty plates in silence for awhile.

"You were there," Hermione remembered.

"Pardon?"

"At the final battle, you stood in the doorway."

He gazed at her, and after a while, he said, "Yes, that was all I did, watching." He sounded bitter.

"You disappeared suddenly," she added softly.

"Left through the front door when it was over. There was nothing I could do anyway."

Hermione frowned. She recalled he'd disappeared in a blink of an eye, but then again, she hadn't been well that day, and you couldn't Disapparate at Hogwarts. Maybe she'd had a blackout then too, without noticing it? It wasn't a comforting thought.

"Yeah, I was a really big help," he snorted.

"I am sure you wanted to be," she replied, placing her hand on his arm comforting. "I am sure you could have done a lot if it had been necessary."

Tom sent her a weak smile, and she really wished she hadn't brought up the subject and made him so sad. It was bad enough she was miserable. She really hadn't wanted to spread it around to the one person who was kind to her. They needed a change of topic, but on what?

However, moments later, she remembered something that changed the expression on her face.

"You know how to do wandless magic?" she asked, fascinated.

He lowered his eyelids, humbleness radiating from him. "Only a few simple spells. It's really not that big of a deal—"

Despite his modesty, she could tell he was glad she changed the subject to something a bit lighter and decided to continue her enquiry. Well, this was something he could be proud of.

"I think it's fascinating," she praised him. "There are some people who have trouble with nonverbal spells, let alone wandless magic."

"Every child knows how to do it," he rebutted mildly.

"But that's not deliberate," she countered enthusiastically, "It's more a reflex, a natural instinct that just happens subconsciously when you don't think about it. It's very hard to do it on purpose, consciously."

She was really excited about this and waited for him to stop being so daftly unpretentious about it and elaborate on the subject. It really was a big deal to be able to do it. He glanced at her again with those bottomless eyes, and she gazed right back, till she noticed that she had been staring at him for far too long. Upon realising this, she felt her cheeks turning warm yet again—though not from the alcohol this time—so she looked away, placing her eyes on anything but the young man sitting right next to her.

So, she missed how outside, in the alley, a bleeding and bruised redhead leaned against the window, panting heavily, and how "Seth" whisked his wand around, casting several spells in a row fast. One of them caused the window to show Ron Weasley exactly what Lord Voldemort wanted him to see—Hermione with some unknown bloke. The other one would make sure the dunderhead would be unable to find the entrance to the establishment.

Said redhead suddenly squinted in their direction, noticing Hermione despite the bad lighting in the bar. Fury ran through Ron's features when he realised she was there with some blond bloke, who had his back turned to him. He pressed both his hands against the window in order to get a better visual.

And Tom Riddle knew he was going to relish and reap the rewards of what would happen next.

"You're still bleeding," he suddenly remarked, causing her to bring her attention back to him and then to her knee.

"Oh, I ... yeah ..." she murmured, her forehead wrinkling from the prickling pain that started again once she remembered she scraped her knee.

She was about to reach for her wand when he stopped her with his actions.

"Allow me," he said softly, and before she could answer, he lifted her legs gently onto his lap with one arm, knowing full well what it would look like to freckle-face outside.

He placed his hand on her knee and his free arm on the back of the bench behind her. Mentally, Hermione chided herself for skipping a heartbeat.

He gave her a charming smile. "You were interested in wandless magic, were you not?"

His eyes caught hers and she swallowed from the intensity that was suddenly overly present in his gaze. "Y-yes," she stuttered.

"Then, watch," he ordered.

She wanted to, but was somehow unable to break their eye contact. He stroked the inside of her leg gently, causing her to blink and move her attention to what he was doing to her knee. Seeing his pale hand there—just above the hem of her skirt—made her blush, but she wasn't doing anything wrong. He was just showing her something.

However, she was still fully aware of how intimate they seemed in this position. She didn't even know where to look any longer; she was afraid of the laughing glances she might get from the other people in the pub, and she was even more afraid of staring at Seth for longer than necessary. There was an inexplicable attraction that she felt towards the man, and it was rather ridiculous in Hermione's opinion. After all, she had only known him for less than an hour.

She felt the same swirl of magic dance around her body, and his fingers curled around her joint; heat travelled from his hand to her knee and forced its way up her body. Hermione swayed in the sensation, and she felt his arm wrap around her shoulders, keeping her upright.

"There," he finally announced, moving his hand upwards on her leg so that she could see her kneecap.

She smiled when she noticed that the injury was, in fact, completely healed.

"Thanks," she said, finally meeting his gaze. "That—that felt ... unusual, but not unpleasant."

"You're welcome," he answered, his breath brushing against her face.

She suddenly realised how close they were to one another, so close that she could feel it every time he inhaled and exhaled, so close that she could feel the warmth emanating from his body. She lowered her gaze, only to find that his hand was still on her thigh underneath her slightly raised skirt, and a furious blush blossomed on her cheeks when she acknowledged the fact that she didn't really mind.

It felt ... _exciting, forbidden _that he did that while they sat here right in the open for everyone to see.

His fingertips caressed the inside of her thigh lightly, and she tried to suppress the shudder that ran through her but wasn't entirely successful. She felt his breath against her cheek and raised her face, slightly afraid of what she would see in his eyes. She held her breath when his eyes exhibited a need so dark, it was overwhelming. It overtook her senses and his mouth was on hers before she could think straight.

It was wrong. So, so wrong. She had only known this man for less than an hour. But she knew she couldn't—_**didn't want**_ _**to**_ resist him.

So, she tilted her head and opened her mouth, meeting his tongue halfway. Her muffled moan vibrated through them. It made his actions more aggressive and forceful, kissing her like he was trying to mark her with his lips, his tongue, his teeth, exploring every inch of her mouth with his, while she returned the favour. His hand on her thigh squeezed, and he pulled her farther onto his lap, making her skirt ride up. Though it still covered her private area, it didn't cover what he was doing to her leg now or how eagerly she responded by spreading her legs slightly to grant him better access.

Her hands were in his hair, ruffling through the softness of it, while his arm around her shoulder tightened. Their kiss intensified. Merlin, she needed something. She needed something so badly, but it was just out of reach. She tilted her head to the other side to kiss him from a different angle, hoping it would satisfy that sudden craving inside the core of her being.

His hand was in her hair, forcing her in position, while she released his hair, letting her hands slide over his cheeks, down his neck, until it was on his chest. She grabbed on to the opening of his shirt, and the logical side of her brain told her that it would be unwise to rip off his shirt right then and there. So, she gripped on to it. The want of tearing it apart to gain access to his bare skin still caused the tips of her fingers to tingle.

A low growl escaped his throat as he massaged the inside of her leg, slowly making his way upwards. The sound in itself made her stomach flip in joy, and her moans became more and more audible as his hand got closer and closer to the place where she needed him most.

She couldn't think anymore; every single thought in her mind was on the man in front of her, and she let out a frustrated groan when he was not giving her what she wanted. A chuckle from him heightened her irritation, and she tightened her hold on his shirt. He flexed a bit of his magic and the fabric slipped through her fingers as if she had oil on her hands. She would have fallen back had he not had such a strong hold on her head.

"Rip it and I will make you pay," he threatened darkly.

It made her want to shred it to pieces straight away as in a dare and she did try, but was unable to gain a hold of it again. Frustrated, she moved her hands back to his hair. It had such a nice smooth texture, unlike hers. She stroked through it, while massaging his skull.

His smug smirk (which had taunted her when she had ignored his threat and unsuccessfully had tried to destroy his clothes) disappeared and he closed his eyes, groaning lightly. She really enjoyed how he suddenly clutched to her thigh as if to steady himself, to keep control, but she still felt the slight tremble of his body against hers and she caught his mouth ferociously, wanting to tear that control away. It felt so right being with him, though they were in public, and somewhere in the back of her mind—as ridiculous as it sounded—she knew she belonged with this man.

She clutched to his hair, trying to get him to come closer, as if it was at all possible, as if there was even a hair width of space between them.

Suddenly, he pulled her head back roughly. She gasped; her hands froze in his hair, and she stared into those dark eyes. His pupils had dilated so far—there wasn't a trace of brownness visible, and she could feel herself falling into the dark abyss of his gaze. Their eye contact didn't break as his fingers traced all the way up her thigh, underneath that small cloth of her skirt that was still there, until he reached her underwear. Slowly and gently, he drew small circles on the inside of her thigh, deliberately staying away from her core. His actions made her breathing more and more ragged, while her blood rushed through her veins. She shivered gently in his embrace, hoping he would give her what she was waiting for, and still, she could not look away from him.

His lips curved and he placed his hand against her knickers, watching her silently, not doing anything. She squirmed in his lap, trying to get some friction, but he merely squeezed his fingers, digging them into her flesh to hold her firmly in place, not granting her what she so desperately wanted, _needed_. She wrapped her fingers firmer in his hair, trying to move his head back to hers, but every inch of space she gained he undid by pulling her head back farther. She wanted to scream out in frustration. She could feel her blood pulsing in her pubic bone against his hand, and by Merlin, she needed a release. This was driving her crazy.

"Please, please," she finally begged, barely audible.

Sheer delight crossed his handsome features at her surrender. Tom forced her mouth back on his, right when he flexed every ounce of magic he had available through his hand right into her core. He loved how she screamed into his mouth during her climax, how she shook on his lap, in his arms. But what he loved best was that he'd just shown Ron Weasley and everyone else in this pub that this woman was his. That he'd concurred who was popularly conceived as the best friend of Harry Potter.

He loved it so much it was almost impossible to keep his composure. It already had been hard to not lose his cool at her diligent touches, especially when she practically dared him to make good of his threat. She really was full of surprises—nobody dared Lord Voldemort. It had made him harden instantaneously. But right now, in his moment of victory, he really wanted to throw her on the couch and fuck her brains out. He was happy he'd had the good sense to use a Concealing Charm on himself to prevent his erection from showing beforehand, because he needed to keep the upper hand with this cheeky, insolent witch. Her Horcrux had already proven to him how much trouble she could truly be if given free rein.

He readjusted her skirt, while holding her tightly with his other arm against his chest as she slowly came down from her high. Her body still trembled with little aftershocks as a reaction to his magic vacating. He noticed she wasn't meeting his eyes now; they were downcast in shame at what she'd just done so publicly. He knew that if he didn't want to blow every bit of progress he had made with her, he had to be disgustingly understanding and ... _sweet_ right now.

So, after checking to make sure Ron Weasley had indeed left in a hurry, he kissed her on top of her head and drew her to her feet in his arms.

"Let's go," he ordered.

She glanced upward, seeking reassurance. He gave her that with his expression and by a light squeeze on her arms. He'd always been the best actor when necessary and she did respond with a feeble smile before she rested her head on his chest. It was more than he expected. He knew how morally repressed she held herself, so this was bound to shake her belief in her identity, while this was, in fact, nothing. She hadn't committed a crime or anything. She wasn't even really involved in a relationship with another anymore. But it would still make her doubt herself, and the more insecure she was, the easier to manipulate. He just had to make certain that insecurity wouldn't backfire on his person.

Gently, he took her hand. With a flick of his wrist, his cloak flew around her, covering her from head to toe. And then, he turned his back to her just when she was about to look at him gratefully. A vile smile along with an evil glint in his eyes became his expression, while he dragged her along behind him, moving just a bit too fast for her. It was as much an act for her as for the regulars of the pub, who knew precisely whom that table was reserved for. And right now, they had to understand the Mudblood was nothing special to him—he was just using her to obtain his goals.

He felt her stumble along behind him; sure it would cause her discomfort to heighten. He could feel the evidence of that in the way she clung to his hand, tightening her grip as if she was afraid to be left on her own. And he was very pleased to see some expected leers in her direction, though, he made a firm mental note of who they were, so he could come back later and "explain" to them she was his property.

Nobody, _**nobody **_looked at Lord Voldemort's property that way. She wasn't some cheap whore. His fingers tightened around her hand. Those fools should be castrated. All their feeble minds put together would not be capable of coming up with an ounce of what _**his**_ Hermione was able to achieve. They should be kissing the floor she walked on. His temper flew through the roof and he suddenly turned to her.

Her eyes widened in fear at seeing his furious face.

But he pulled her against him and wrapped his arm around her shoulders protectively. He was very, very pleased to see the unease his gesture put on the faces of those who'd just leered at her demeaningly. And he made sure to gaze at each and every single one of them over her head, while his eyes flashed red, making them squirm in their seats uncomfortably. Satisfied that they'd got the message, he turned to the proprietor.

"Marty," he nodded courteously.

"M—Seth," Marty responded from behind his bar in kind.

A flick of his wrist flung open the doors, and he exited the pub, holding Hermione close against him.

xXx

His blue eyes were still on the pair of them as Ron shook his head. Well ... yes, he did fuck the whore back in the alley, but that didn't give Hermione the right to snog another—she was the one who cheated on him first! And the nerve of that _bitch _to make out with yet another man at a bar in Knockturn Alley in public!

He balled his hands into fists, resisting the urge to break down the window and throw hexes at every person in sight. But the pub was rather crowded, and this was a dangerous place to start fights in, as he had recently discovered. He rubbed his bruised chin and felt blood dripping on his hand. His Healing Charm hadn't done the trick enough and his nose still bled, though not as vigorously as before. _She'd_ probably have something to say about his casting if she knew.

_It's __**win-GAR-dee-um lev-ee-OH-sa**__, Ron, _he mimicked Hermione, aggravated_._

It was never good enough with her, _never_. Dammit, he'd show her and that Malfoy imitation she was with how smashing his fist looked on the bloke's face.

His eyes glanced around, attempting to find the entrance to the damned bar, but to no avail. So he continued glaring at Hermione snogging the unknown blond bloke, waiting for her to notice him—he couldn't wait to see the look of embarrassment that would appear on her face.

However, she never looked towards him. Ron watched as the man pulled her onto his lap, fondled her, and kissed her, while she returned his kisses and answered his ministrations.

What the hell was she doing!

He knew she didn't care about other people seeing what she did when she'd snogged him during the battle, but really, that—that ... ferret impersonator had his hand up her skirt! He nearly blacked out from fury when he saw her climax under his touches, right in front of everyone in the bar.

In the past few weeks, it had become obvious to him that the witch had no scruples, but how could she do this to him? Had she never even considered _his_ feelings?

He couldn't watch any longer. It was clear that she probably wouldn't even _feel_ an inkling of guilt towards him, even if she knew that he had just seen her with another man. Perhaps she had even more of them out there? It disgusted him, and he needed to leave immediately. He needed space ... yes ... he needed space.

So, he ran in the opposite direction as fast as he could, determined to put as much distance between him and that man-eating bitch as he could. He finally stopped when he reached the front of what formerly was Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. He bent down and rested his hands on his knees, panting.

He was never going to forgive her. Remembering the fact that he used to fancy her thoroughly sickened him. After a few minutes, he finally straightened up.

So be it. She could snog as many men as she wanted; it was really none of his business anymore. He had been determined to break off the relationship ever since he'd seen her with Healer Lewis. This blond bloke only strengthened his determination. She could fancy all the blokes in the world, for all he cared. It was her loss their relationship was over, not his. No, he didn't care about her, _**at all**_. She wasn't the _only_ girl in the world.

"Ron!" a female voice squeaked behind him, excited.

Before he had a chance to turn around completely, he was practically mowed down by a body jumping on top of him, causing several shopping bags to swing around and crash into his back, hard.

"Lav-Lavender," he replied, his voice muffled by her pashmina that got stuck partly in his mouth.

"It's so good to see you again. I never got to thank you after you saved my life by pulling me away from that curse of that horrific looking Death Eater. How's Harry? He must be really happy now, right?" One of her bags slipped, and she squealed as it hit the stone cobbles. "Oh no! Not my crystal ball for Parvati!" She unwrapped herself from Ron, squatted down, and opened the bag to check on the contents. "It's still intact. These are the best ones, says Sybill. Very expensive, though. But I'm getting everyone in our class gifts." She slammed her hand for her mouth. "I haven't got you anything, yet! Do you still play Quidditch?"

Ron opened his mouth, but she didn't wait for his reply and answered it herself. "Of course you do! You were brilliant at it. You have to come with me and help me pick a present for you. Do you know what Harry likes? I got Hermione a book on all the wizarding schools of the world. She'll love it. But I don't know what to give Harry," she ranted on, while stuffing her bags in his arms and dragging him along Diagon Alley. "Boys are always difficult to shop for. And we only have one hour before closing time!"

_One hour. _

Ron groaned. His mother was going to kill him. He was too late for their meeting.

"Something the matter?"

"I was supposed to meet my mother about ages ago, but now ..." He stared at Lavender as if she was a gift send by the angels. Hermione had been upset when he'd dated her, very upset. He still had the scars from those stupid birds. "Say, why don't you go with me? I am sure _she_ would love to meet you."

"You want me to come with you to your family's house and meet your mother?" Lavender exclaimed enthusiastically, and she flung her arms around him. "You are always so kind. I'd love to."

"Well, we're staying over at Harry's at—"

He never got to finish his sentence, because Lavender jubilantly cheered when she heard that she was now invited at the Saviour of the World's house.

"Here we are," she declared when they reached the shop of Quality Quidditch Supplies. "Come on, Ron, hurry. We only have an hour, and now, I also have to get your mother something."

She flung open the door to Quality Quidditch Supplies and raced inside like a thundering Bludger, leaving Ron stumbling through the door with all her bags. But he didn't mind, he was suddenly looking forward to going home.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **If only... *sighs dreamily and envision a life of... lands hard on her behind back in reality.* Don't own and getting no money for this. *growl* So, we cherish every review. *hint, hint*

**A/N: **Thank you for reading and reviewing: cosettex, matterhorn, Melora, susannajulia, Ceralyn, JaceDamian23, Aastha Panit, sesshomari, WeBuildThenWeBreak, EasilyAmusedReader, MidnightThief12, BlueSkyHeaven, meshalok, Vinwin, sweet-tang-honney.

* * *

**The Gold Puppet **

**Chapter 11**

For a while, Tom stared at the empty spot where Hermione Granger had just Disapparated with a virile, and yet, forlorn expression. He hadn't wanted to allow her to leave his side. She belonged with him. But he knew she would be more useful to him after she'd got her N.E.W.T.s. There was no doubt in his mind she would gain a position of power, and that, he could use for his benefit. His long cloak hung over his left arm. He'd almost let her Apparate away with it, so she would still be marked by his presence in some way.

But, just in a nick of time, he recalled what he had stashed in its pocket and it would not do if she found her petrified Horcrux. No doubt upon contact with her real life self, the soul inside the cup would have the expected response, because no spell could hold off something that powerful, and it was too soon for that to happen. Hermione was not ready for that yet.

However, he was getting closer and closer with her. In the end, she would be his.

Calmly, Tom undid the charm on his voice, knowing he wouldn't need it anymore, and he put his attention on the most enjoyable conversation he was ever going to have with Granger—ever since the time he allegedly made her fuck his snakelike self. But unlike that experience, this had been real.

"Had fun, too?" he asked the petrified soul tauntingly, knowing it would have heard and experienced everything Hermione had felt, too. "Oh so sorry; I forgot you couldn't talk," he mocked, sniggering.

He missed the bemused glances, the couple of giggles, and raised eyebrows that were sent his way by those who saw him talking to his cloak. Casually, he whirled it around his tall frame again, placing his wandhand in the pocket and stroking the smooth, cold surface of the gold cup before unpetrifying her wandlessly. Because he wanted to get to her, he left his hand there, tracing the rim of the cup with his index finger. The cup shuddered in his pocket, and he chuckled.

_Oh, he was getting to her, alright._

But he wanted to hear what she had to say about her "personal" encounter with him, so he stopped caressing the cup, although he didn't remove his hand. It was far too enjoyable to show her who was in control here, and he absolutely loved the physical reaction inside himself whenever they had contact. It was obvious she felt the same way; she just didn't have his kind of expertise in not showing emotions and feelings to others. To his delight, the cup kept trembling in his hand, and ... (he frowned) was she—_oh not again!_—crying? If she was, he would give her something real to cry about in a second.

He spun on the spot and Disapparated into his flat. Tom yanked the cup from his cloak's pocket ready to curse it when he realised the cup wasn't crying; it was laughing, no, giggling, no, it was sniggering ... extremely gleefully.

_Unexpected. Maybe nerves? Women were strange emotional creatures after all._

"What's so funny?" he enquired, not amused.

"J—Just wo—wo—wo—" she laughed louder before regaining her composure somewhat and continuing in a steadier voice, "I was just wondering who sorted you into Slytherin." She roared with laughter again. "You were right to try to burn the Sorting Hat. It's lost its touch decades ago."

Bemused, he planted the cup on the table where it danced on its feet in merriment to his utter irritation. Tom opened his mouth to say something, but of course Babble Granger beat him to it.

"A changed voice," she mocked. "Do you think that even counts as cunning?" She snorted. "_Nooooo_, now I will never figure out whom I had dinner with. Pfftttt..."

The cup twirled around in mocking delight.

A twinge of concern began to form in his chest, but he shut it away, because it was ridiculous. She was deliberately trying to make him doubt himself, so he would error. He wasn't falling for her manipulative tricks. Ignoring the dancing cup, he walked to the centre of the room where his shopping bag lay on the floor. He'd banished it to his flat after leaving the shop since he wouldn't want to be found dead having to carry stuff around for no good reason at all. He wasn't a wizard for nothing. He picked up the bag from Flourish and Blotts, containing _two _Arithmancy volumes, and put the books on the ruined dresser before he walked back to the cup—its deceptive ways weren't influencing him at all. So, he'd bought the book she'd suggested. He hadn't read it before; hence, it was no big deal. He liked to read new things, and a book couldn't harm him. It had nothing to do with what she tried to achieve now.

"You think I am dead, _dear_," he snarled, halting in front of the armchair. "There is absolutely no reason for you to think poor Seth MacDougal is Tom Riddle."

The cup laughed so hard at his words that it tipped over and rolled off the table. Furious, he caught it underneath his foot, wanting to stamp the insolent Mudblood in the ground. Alas, Horcruxes didn't destroy that easily. But he did sit down in the chair, keeping it contained underneath the sole of his shoe—right where she belonged.

"Were you even thinking with your _brain _when you decided to step into my path in Knockturn Alley?" the cup continued relentlessly. "Or did you keep that part of you at Hogwarts after graduation? Or ...," she laughed even more gleefully, "was your brain in the ring destroyed by _**Albus Dumbledore**_?" she accentuated the name on purpose. "It had to go somewhere. I haven't seen you use it much ... _yet_."

His wand made it to his hand and he twirled it between his fingers, while a cool expression appeared on his face.

_Do continue little one, you will soon regret it. _

Hermione's soul didn't need his incentive.

"Interesting wand you have there," she said lightly. "And so nice of you to flash it around in the pub underneath my nose. Didn't you ever consider Harry might have talked to me about the connection between your wand and his?"

Abruptly, his fingers froze and the wand halted in midtwirl.

The cup laughed.

"Apparently not," she mocked, not going too far with this since she knew perfectly well she'd never seen Tom Riddle's original wand before that encounter with his cup in the Chamber of Secrets. The few times she had seen Lord Voldemort cast he'd used the Elder Wand and Lucius's. Besides, Harry had only mentioned their cores were similar. He'd never described the outside to her. Well, there had been no need to. And knowing Riddle was a master in flushing out lies, she kept her statements in forms of questions or suggestions about what he had or hadn't considered.

Suddenly, Riddle smirked and started twirling again. "Nice try, Granger, but yew is a popular wood for wands and the core is invisible from the outside. So, as I previously stated, Lord Voldemort is dead and you have no reason to suspect the kind, helpful and caring Seth who made you feel _soooo_ good," he added tauntingly.

"No, I have absolutely no reason to think that Tom Riddle could be Seth the _**orphan**_, who is dark-eyed, black-haired, pale, tall, handsome, with his long _piano fingers_, whose magic swirls around him like an aura, and whose looks have been described to me a thousand times, as well as his persona being charming, mesmerising, manipulative, powerful, and oh ... has some mood swings that, of course, I have never witnessed in Harry's behaviour, _ever_."

She laughed again.

"Yes, I am sure your altered voice will do the trick, _Lord Voldemort_," she squeaked his name in a bad imitation of his former cold, high-pitched voice. "I mean it's not like we don't know it has never changed before," she sneered sarcastically.

"And you just let me walk away after that." Another snort left the cup loudly. "I was sure you wouldn't let me go; I mean you couldn't possibly be that daft. Although, you did leave your sissy, girly diary in Lucius Malfoy's care, so ... maybe you never were that bright. I wouldn't even let a Malfoy watch over the crap that exits the rear end of my body, let alone a part of my soul. HAHAHAHA!"

He stamped on the feet of the cup, causing it to fly through the air. His hand whisked out and he caught it in front of his emotionless face. She stopped laughing, _eventually_, and waited expectantly.

Smiling broadly, Tom spoke softly, "I am afraid you're going to be very disappointed in yourself, Hermione, for it seems you are the one not using your brain ... in both parts of you."

"Oooo, do tell, do tell," she said in faux enthusiasm. If the cup would have been able to clap its ears as hands together, it would have done so. "Give me one of your "insightful" lessons on how the world operates. I _sooooo_ love those, because wow, you are always _sooooo_ right."

He ignored the high dose of sarcasm dripping from her voice like the stickiest honey. "You have no reason to believe Lord Voldemort has returned," he said sweetly.

"No reason," she replied snorting. "Let's see... Hagrid died; Slughorn died; Harry got an irremovable painting crash on his head; Ron's acting like an idiot."

He arched an eyebrow at that.

"Well, more so than normally," the cup continued between gritted teeth, "because I can't explain why at times. I am still having some blackouts and there was the hearing voices' issue, and, oh yeah, Ginny mentioned I was possessed by you. And Ginny keeps mentioning your name, due to your own stupidity with the potions you're feeding her, so you'll still be on the forefront of my mind every time I think of her. You make me come into the hospital on a regular basis, so you can "help" me with the voices and the blackouts. But you forget that every time I come into St. Mungo's, I am reminded of Ginny and her words, and therefore, of you. Gee, do you think that now that I've actually met you I may start to wonder about your identity and the truthfulness of Ginny's words once I have had a little time to consider "Seth" and everything that happened recently?"

It was very, _very_ silent after that.

Triumphantly, Hermione continued, "And let's not forget that I have to take into account the over the top Reality Distortion Curse you used on me, making me experience being in your captivity, or the times I found myself snogging Healer Lewis as if I would ever, _ever _do something like that. And then, I let a complete stranger do to me what you did to me in an overly crowded area. Yeah, I will never connect the dots. You're perfectly safe now, Tom Marvolo Riddle," she ended, sniggering softly, while enjoying the current situation she'd just laid out to him.

Tom couldn't help himself. Her words had made him concerned. She had a point. Crap, she had excellent points.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

Why had he felt the need to step into her path when he saw her running towards him in distress? Why had he wanted to protect her from an encounter with Ron Weasley? Why had he taking her into that pub of all places, and then, proceeded to sit down at his old seat. If any of those fools in there decided to gain a backbone and contact her, she would know who Seth MacDougal really was. He knew it was highly unlikely since most of them had a dubious background and feared him tremendously, but still, one was enough.

Oh blasted, they could send her an anonymous letter. Maybe he should burn the place and everyone in it to the ground?

"Yeah, because that wouldn't get me to be suspicious," the cup's voice chimed in.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose and raised his mental walls to block her out, which to his utter revulsion became harder and harder to achieve. But he needed to think and he seemed to be unable to do that around her.

Blasted Mudblood and her conniving, scheming methods.

Really, what had the Sorting Hat been thinking? She was the bleeding poster girl for Slytherin with those characteristics. So, she was brave—big deal. He'd seen plenty of cowards in Gryffindor and more than enough unfortunate bravery in his House—bloody traitors.

He really, really regretted Snape got off so easily. His death had been far too expedient and not nearly expedient enough. He growled when he recalled how close Potter had been to him without him noticing, and why was he dwelling on that nonsense now?

_**Granger**_.

Dammit, he needed to focus on what could become an issue, not on what had been or should have been. Ugh.

Seth MacDougal ... what else had he risked by showing himself to the Mudblood like that?

Seth MacDougal's life story would be no problem. His blood-traitoring family really had been wiped out by Death Eaters, and he had killed the sole survivor to gain a new identity. The pureblood had had black hair and his eye colour, but he'd been a fat, pimpled fellow with glasses thicker than Sybill Trelawney's—utterly common, unattractive, and ... _dumb_. So, he could easily use the losing of weight, clearing of his skin, and getting his eyes done as an explanation as to why he seemed different.

Tom'd felt that having to drink Polyjuice Potion for one identity, and keeping one bloke alive in a closet for it, was more than he could stand.

There were only two major problems with Seth's identity. He'd been rather short and he'd been in Percy Weasley's year. Since he hadn't been a Prefect or anything else out of the ordinary, Granger would not have noticed Seth. After all, she'd had other things on her mind, better things, _**him**_. But if she mentioned Seth to that other blasted redhead, things could go wrong for him. Really, he should have castrated that breeding-like-bunnies couple during his first reign. Nothing but trouble came out of that insipid, meddlesome family.

"Still thinking about the errors of your ways?" a taunting bossy voice asked. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, I thought Lord Voldemort would have had a solution by now. Oh, but I forgot you only have two modus operandi, kill or torture." She giggled. "Oh please fill me in, did you get those high scores on your N.E.W.T.s through bribery or blackmail?" she paused. "Okay, okay, I suppose that makes four methods in total," she mock-admitted. "Let's see, kill, torture, bribery, blackmail ... mmm ... and ... oh, of course, getting whacked by Harry Potter," she ended triumphantly.

He threw the cup on the floor and glanced at the cup askew, not really keeping his attention on it, while the wheels in his mind turned. The twit continued her gleeful monologue, despite the pain she must be feeling from being thrown on the floor, and she was completely oblivious about what he was truly thinking.

"As if glaring at me will work? Oh sure! Glare at the stupid little Horcrux. Because _**that **_will certainly get all your problems solved. And, if in doubt, torture said cup; perhaps that will make everything work out. After all, a cup Horcrux is oh so scary. Pfft, not working, Tom Marvolo Riddle. The real life me is still out there. I _**will**_ work this out."

She continued with her babbling, adding vulgar insults every now and then. He knew women should be kept away from pumpkin brains. The ridiculous language they picked up from him! It was annoying, really, especially when he was in the process of devising a plan.

Yesss, her words had given him an idea—he was sure that filthy, little Mudblood wouldn't be too pleased to hear about that—but she interrupted his thought process. So, he flicked his wand at the cup, causing it to start screaming at the top of her lungs again. A faint smile appeared on his previously impassive face and he relaxed. Such a delightful sound. It really did help him to think.

Slowly, he leaned forward in the chair he sat in and propped up his face with his hand, while he looked at the cup that rolled on the floor in pain. The smirk on his face became more and more pronounced as a plan started to take form in his mind.

"You know, Granger," he said softly, "do keep talking. I'm starting to see the value in what seemed like incessant gibberish."

He lifted his wand, stopping the curse, and allowed the cup to concentrate on what he was going to tell her next.

"I must thank you for reminding me how dangerous it is for the real life you to walk around freely, now that she saw me. Perhaps she can put two and two together one of these days. But that, does not matter any longer, because I will make sure that she will never be in the position to tell anyone what has happened."

The Horcrux remained quiet, but he could feel her fear, and oh, how he relished in it! His eyes glittered merrily. Tom was positive that if the cup had a heart, it would be beating erratically right about now, because she had no idea what he was talking about. And being in the unknown always caused fear in a person.

So he laughed, deciding to keep her in the dark just a bit longer, so she could wallow in fright and concern. Tracing his finger around the rim of his empty teacup, he leaned back in his armchair.

"Please do tell what kind of _**brilliant**_ scheme you've finally come up with. I'm so very curious in regards to what kind of plan someone with _**your **_intelligence can put together," the cup finally said.

He could tell she tried her hardest to sound calm, but of course, that kind of pitiful acting wasn't going to trick Lord Voldemort—even her insult seemed extremely half-hearted when she was worried.

"A simple action on my part will solve the problem once and for all," he answered cryptically, tilting the teapot, which was magically kept warm, and pouring a cup of tea for himself.

"Like what? Using crude methods such as Memory Charms? Or are you going to throw another Killing Curse at Harry again?" she mocked. "Oh yes. The latter one seems like a wonderful plan. Because then you can _**play dead **_again and get reborn later, just like every other time you supposedly died, right?" She snorted. "Ooooh, how scary is that!" She started giggling _again_. "As if the real life me wouldn't know that. As if she can't work it out if she'd been Obliviated. Harry and Ron both know what it's like to be Obliviated, and you could be reassured that Ron _will_ tell her about what happened in the pub. He won't be able to keep his mouth shut about something like that, especially if the real life me keeps trying to make nice with him."

He could almost see her triumphantly grinning, but it didn't matter to him.

"What's the fun of Obliviating you, _honey_,"—he smirked at his choice of name for her; she immediately stopped in her giggles, no doubt in anger since he purposely reminded her of what happened because of the Reality Distortion Curse—"when there is another method I can use, that would prevent the real life you from forgetting what happened?" He paused, deliberately taking his time with drinking his tea. "Very soon," he quietly said, placing the teacup back onto the saucer, "not only you will be in my possession, but so will your pathetic, dirty, impudent, unsophisticated, real life self."

Rising from his chair, Tom laughed and walked towards the cauldron, leaving the Horcrux to her worries.

Therefore, he didn't see how calm the cup stood there, on the floor, nor did he feel the triumphant atmosphere surrounding it since he'd just done exactly what she wanted. If she couldn't inform her real life self, well, then Lord Voldemort should do it for her.

_We'll see who's the final victor in the end, Riddle._

His arrogance would be his downfall, and he would pay for underestimating Hermione Jean Granger.

xXx

Ron gulped as he placed his hand on the doorhandle. He knew what waited for him behind that door, but he wasn't sure if he was ready for it. Mrs. Weasley was known to nag on and on for hours, especially when she was upset about something. After Hermione and he hadn't shown up for the meeting, she was bound to be _**extremely**_ upset about that.

And bringing Lavender home! What had he been thinking?

He closed his eyes and tilted his head upwards, heaving a sigh. He and Lavender had parted ways a few minutes ago, because she had forgotten to buy something for her new pet rabbit, but she had asked for the address of where he was going and promised she would be there within twenty minutes.

He shuffled his feet and grabbed his hair with both hands. He was so, so dead. He wondered if it was really worth it, trying to get to Hermione by using Lavender. But who could blame him, honestly? After what she just did in Knockturn Alley...

The memory caused a mulish expression to appear on his face. It wasn't his fault. If his mother forced him to...

He groaned. He couldn't tell his mum what he saw, either, because then he would have to explain to her _why _he was there. She would have his head if she found out he fucked a whore and in such a dodgy place as Knockturn Alley no less.

No, no, no. He'd better keep his mouth shut about what he saw. Fortunately, his face had cleared up completely by now. So, at least, he didn't have to worry about them seeing he'd been in a fight and asking where and how that fight had occurred.

But, despite his own indiscretions, he was still determined to show that man-eating bitch. If she could run around with two males, he could have two "dates", too. He had to show her that she wasn't the **only** one in the world to him, because she really took him for granted. She always had.

Taking another deep breath, he opened the door and walked into the hallway.

"Where _have _you been?" Mrs. Weasley's voice immediately filled the hallway in hushed tones as she hurried out from the kitchen with her hands on her waist.

Ron took a step back and gulped, hating the guest alert his parents had placed in Harry's house so they would be alerted whenever someone entered.

"No messages, no messengers, not _one _clue of where you had gone! You could've been murdered! You could've been kidnapped by a Death Eater who hadn't been caught yet!" Mrs. Weasley's voice got louder and louder with each word she said.

"FILTHY BLOOD-TRAITORS, DEFILING THE HOUSE OF MY ANCESTORS—" Mrs. Black's voice immediately started shrieking.

The door to the living room swung open, and Harry and Mr. Weasley raced out. They immediately ran over to the portrait and pulled on the curtains with as much strength as they could muster.

"I ... I ..." Ron stuttered, placing his hands in front of himself like a shield.

"You had better explain yourself, young man," Mrs. Weasley said loudly over Mrs. Black's screams and sent a stern look his way.

Finally, Harry and Mr. Weasley managed to close the curtains, but they kept their stances, pretty sure that Mrs. Weasley wasn't quite done with Ron yet—she had been glaring at the clock and muttering under her breath for the past hour already. The only reason why Hermione, who was still sitting inside the living room sipping her tea, hadn't been yelled at was because, well ... she wasn't exactly family yet.

And Mrs. Weasley wanted her to become family, so in her eyes, Ron was the most to blame for this entire ordeal she just went through. She'd been worried sick about him. But now that he was here, alive and well, she recalled how he was screwing up his relationship with her perfect daughter-in-law to be. As if it wasn't bad enough, Ginny had tried to kill the poor girl, now her son also hurt wonderful, sweet, little Hermione ... and _**he**_ had no excuse for it.

"I ... I had ... had to go look ... look for Hermione," Ron mumbled, his face paling under her glare.

Oh, so now he used her as an excuse for this action as well. "And arriving back here much later than Hermione?"

She took a few additional steps forward, which caused Ron to take a few steps backwards, causing his back to almost touch the front door again, while Mrs. Weasley folded her arms over each other.

Harry and Mr. Weasley's eyes glanced back and forth between the two of them, as if they were watching a Quidditch match, but they dared not step in between their "conversation". Nobody in their right mind ever interrupted Molly Weasley if they valued their hides.

"I ran into my friend!" Ron blurted out, causing Harry and Mr. Weasley to swing through the air on the curtains, which tried to open again, while Mrs. Black shrieked through the little openings that were created. However, they were able to keep the level of interference to a minimum, and after that, both Ron and Mrs. Weasley lowered their tones significantly.

"A friend," Mrs. Weasley huffed. A frown appeared on her face shortly afterwards. "Who?"

"Lavender Brown," he muttered.

"Lavender?" she asked, a confused expression on her face.

Apparently, she still remembered that he and Lavender had dated for a while back in his sixth year—Ginny and her huge blabbermouth. The fact that he'd had a bad thought of Ginny made his ears turn red in guilt, but Mrs. Weasley took it differently. She considered his guilt to be related to Hermione and she leaned into her son's face.

"How dare you bring another girl to this house?" she whispered furiously. "It's not yours, you know. You can't just invite people over without consulting your host. We are guests of Harry, and so is Hermione. You are making them both miserable with your ridiculous behaviour. Can't you see how right that girl would be for you?" Mrs. Weasley gestured over her shoulder in the direction of the living room, while she got a dreamy, loving expression as she considered Hermione and her son together. "Don't you see how bright she is? You should be thankful she loves you instead of treating her like a pariah over some petty disagreements."

_Petty disagreements? She fucked and snogged other men__!_ Indignantly, Ron opened his mouth to defend himself.

"Don't you dare," she hissed, pricking him in his chest with her index finger. "Don't you dare put the blame on her, Ronald. You are my son. I know you. Your jealousy and peevishness will be your undoing if you don't tone it down. Hermione is perfect for you. Now, go tell this Lavender _nicely _to take a hike and make up with Hermione. I am sure she will accept your apologies if you make them. Now, Kreacher has been safekeeping a beautiful gift-wrapped box of Honeydukes's finest chocolates for me. He knows you'll be asking about them, so hand it to her when you give her your most sincere apologies, and I am positive everything will work out for the best. Hermione is a very caring young woman, Ronald. She'd make an excellent wife for you."

After that, Mrs. Weasley turned on her heels and walked back into the living room, certain her son would not disobey her wishes. The doorbell rang. Harry and Mr. Weasley again had to restrain the curtains, while Ron stood there, not knowing what to do. Lavender had arrived earlier than expected, so he couldn't intercept her outside and make up some excuse. He couldn't leave her standing outside, and he couldn't let her in.

What had he been thinking? His mother would kill him if he invited Lavender in now.

Suddenly, the source of it all whirled into the hallway and pushed him aside bossily.

"Where are your manners, Ronald?" Hermione snapped, and she threw open the door. "Lavender!" she said cheerfully and hugged her classmate exuberantly, ignoring how Ron's mouth was now wide open. "It's good to see you again. Come in, come in. Can I take your bags and coat?"

Harry stared at the interaction between the two girls and occasionally glanced at Ron, who stood there frozen as Lavender replied to Hermione's answer. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shared a look and a frown before they watched the two witches chatter as if they were friends who hadn't seen one another for a long time; if they recalled correctly, Ginny had mentioned about the two of them not talking with one another after what had happened back in their sixth year.

Ron felt miserable as he saw Hermione and Lavender walking to the living room together, chatting lively over the battle at Hogwarts. She didn't even care he brought someone. She didn't even care.

Both Harry and Mr. Weasley glanced at him with pity. So, he avoided eye contact and slugged to the living room, too. Not eager to see the, no doubt, look of disapproval on his mother's face.

"Oh, thank you," Hermione said happily.

He noticed her flipping excited through the leaves of some stupid book on worldwide wizarding education.

"I know how much you always enjoyed reading '_Hogwarts: A History'_," Lavender explained. "So I thought you'd like this one, too."

"I love it, thank you."

And the girls chattered on throughout the entire evening, oblivious towards Ron's dismay, which was further heightened by the many glares Mrs. Weasley sent to him during the whole time.

xXx

The next morning, Harry stood beside Hermione who had just finished packing all her belongings in her Hogwarts trunk, and then, dumped said trunk in her beaded bag. "This really is for the best, Harry," she said, hugging him.

He held on to her tightly. "I'll miss you," he said over her shoulder, not wanting to let go.

Harry had been trying to stop her from going, but he knew she had a point. The atmosphere at Twelve Grimmauld Place had reached new lows after Lavender had left.

"And I'll miss you, too," she replied, leaning back to look into his familiar face. "But if we want to have some chance to remain friends in some shape or form in the future, it's best if Ron and I get some distance between each other before we bash the other's head in."

Harry sputtered, trying to object again to her being the one to leave instead of who he felt was the cause of all the arguing.

"You know I am right, Harry," she interrupted, stepping away and hauling the heavy bag over her shoulder. "Ron needs to be here with his family for Ginny's sake. Besides, Hogwarts starts earlier this year for those students who missed classes, so they have a chance to catch up. As I am the Head Girl, I need to be there too to help out. I only have a bit more than one week of summer holiday left, and I really need to see if my parents are alright."

In the corridor, Ron halted a few feet away from the opened door, hearing only the last sentence. _She was leaving?_ A sharp pain stabbed in his chest, until he recalled he hated her now. _Good riddance, yes, good riddance._

"Are you sure that won't be too painful?" Harry asked, concerned. "You said yourself they won't remember you."

Hermione bit her lip. "I know. It's why I avoided going in the first place, but I realised I have to see them ... I—I ..." She dropped her head.

"Isn't there anything you can do to make them regain their memory?" asked Harry, concerned.

Silently, she shook her head, blowing her nose in a familiar handkerchief before looking up at him again.

Ron stood there, almost ready to walk into the room and tell her everything was going to be alright, but he just couldn't make that first step.

"No, I—I used the Memory Charm, Harry. If you don't store their memories beforehand, they can never be replaced back afterwards."

"Why—?" he stopped, realising she hadn't dared to take the risk of someone else restoring their memories and causing her parents undue pain. "You didn't think we would win," he said softly.

_Ha! See, and she reprimanded him for leaving; she hadn't believed it herself, _Ron thought triumphantly.

"Sorry," she said, looking at him apologetically.

Harry snorted. "Don't be. It's not like I ever thought we'd get there. I mean, come on, seven Horcruxes! And Dumbledore didn't leave us a single clue on how to destroy them. If you hadn't nicked those books from his office after he died, we'd have never figured it out. Really, and then, he left Snape in the impossible position of being in charge of getting us that sword in person, because it had to be acquired under certain circumstances. And he left us those puzzling Hallows' clues. Really, it would have been nice if at least one thing could have been simply laid out before us instead of having us chase shadows. Can you just imagine all the things that could have gone wrong?"

"Well, I did say those Hallows were unimportant," Hermione replied with twinkling eyes and a growing smile on her face.

"Yes, yes, you did," Harry said humorously, pricking his finger in her chest. "You almost, _almost_ made me lose, Granger."

"Eh, I think breaking your wand was my best attempt," she sniggered.

"Eww ... don't remind me of that disgusting snake," Harry said, wrinkling his nose. "You didn't see it get out of her."

"I smelled it," Hermione said, with an equal look of disgust on her face.

They looked at each other's face and started laughing. Her bag slid from her shaking shoulder and landed on the floor with a heavy thud.

An embarrassed expression appeared on Ron's face, and he was more than glad that the two of them couldn't see it. He knew what they were talking about, of course—it had occurred when he had left them to go back to the Burrow, when they went to Godric's Hollow alone. He shuffled his feet in discomfort and would've turned around to go to his room, but they started to talk again inside.

"I can't believe we got away there," Harry hiccoughed. "I was certain we were done for, especially when he arrived as well."

"He did shriek in frustration when we plunged out the window," she recalled, sniggering.

"Really?" Harry asked, delighted.

"Oh yeah, I remember it well; it was a very girly sound," Hermione deadpanned, and because it made Harry laugh, she continued, "Really, Harry, I think you made him seem scarier to us than he ever was, so we'd think you'd be a bigger hero."

"Na—naturally," he hiccoughed, leaning against the bed for support. "He—he, _hahaha_, was never scary at all. I just wanted the glory."

"And you obviously exaggerated his desire to kill you," she added, "because if he really wanted to get his hands on you, he wouldn't have wasted his time searching for Dumbledore's wand. He'd just had his Death Eaters round up every Weasley he could get his hands on. I mean, it's not like he didn't know you'd come to their rescue. He'd used the strategy successfully before to try to obtain a prophecy he could easily have lifted from the shelf himself."

"Maybe his brain got fried in the cauldron during his resurrection?" Harry suggested, laughing.

"Because Pettigrew screwed up the potion," she added, giggling.

_Or ferret fur clogged up his brain after staying too long in the ferrets' nest, _Ron added, snorting in the corridor all alone.

"Oh, no, it's all that snake venom he drank," Harry decided, nudging her in her side with his elbow.

"Or he just spent too much time around his followers. You'll drop a significant amount of IQ points every time you have to hear one of them talk. Remember how they argued amongst themselves about who got to press their mark? Can you imagine having to listen to that kind of bull for years ... day and night?"

Now, they both couldn't take it anymore and roared away undisturbed, tears falling down their cheeks. In the corridor outside, Ron leaned against the wall, chuckling as well. But every time he felt like joining them, visuals of Hermione in that pub flashed before his mind's eye, and the pain he felt made him refrain from the urge.

After some time, they regained their composure and stared at each other smiling. "Couldn't have done it all without you, Hermione."

"I know," she said with a wink.

He pulled her over and gave her a brotherly hug. A few seconds later, he released her and gave her an encouraging smile.

"Maybe a professional can do something about your parents' memory?"

She sighed. "I already discussed the subject with Healer Lewis. According to him, they can use my memories of them to undo some of the damage."

Harry's face lit up.

"But... I wasn't around much after finding out I was a witch ... and the blanks, well, they will be significant," Hermione paused. "If they are happy where they are now ... I don't know. It would be selfish, I think."

"So, be selfish for once."

She placed her hand on the back of his head and kissed his forehead. "I'll think about it, okay?"

"You shouldn't go there alone."

"Ginny needs you, Harry. I can handle it."

"If you need me, you'll let me know, won't you?" he said seriously. "I can get there in a sec via my contacts at the Ministry now."

"Afraid to get Splinched otherwise?" she teased.

"Eh, not everyone dares to do such a long distance Apparation."

"It's the same thing as short distance Apparation. You only have to visualise the three D's correctly. It's just in your mind that it's far away." She picked up her bag from the floor.

"Well, my mind says it's at the other side of the planet," Harry replied, grinning. "So, I'd better use the department's Portkeys."

"I'll let you know if I can't handle it alone," she lied. "And I'll owl you. Goodbye, Harry."

"Bye," he said sadly, while she spun on the spot and Disapparated.

In the hallway, Ron quickly tiptoed into his room and closed the door. He leaned against it and slumped down onto the floor. There was no point denying it; he still cared about Hermione more than he should, which was why there'd been many times when he'd wanted to go into the room to enquire about her leaving to Australia and visiting her parents.

But ... how could he forgive her after what she had done? No, he couldn't take her back again, and especially after how kind she was to Lavender ... it was pretty obvious that their relationship meant nothing to her at all.

For the first time since their argument at the hospital, Ron suddenly had the feeling that their relationship had reached the end and the flame that was between them would never reignite again.

xXx

Tom furrowed his brow when his doorbell rang. He was on his way out and had already put his raincoat on. He glanced through the spy hole viewer and got the shock of a lifetime.

**Granger!**

Was she alone or had she figured it out already and brought reinforcements he couldn't see?

And how had she found out where he lived? He hadn't shared that bit of information with her yesterday.

He swirled around and whipped his wand at his living room to vanish any compromising materials into a temporary state of non-being. He pulled the Horcrux from his pocket and stared at it. This, he couldn't afford to lose to anyone. They could have Lewis for all he cared, but the Mudblood was his.

"Problems?" the cup mocked.

"Not for me, _dear_," he said with a smirk, having come to a decision_. _"_Petrificus Totallus!_"

Tom could feel her annoyance as he placed her back in his pocket. If push came to shove and she had arrived with an army because his cover was blown, he could use the cup to incapacitate Granger. Lord Voldemort wasn't leaving this place without his most prized possession. Quickly, he redid the charm on his voice to make it sound like Seth's again. He kept his fingers crossed it wouldn't be for nothing.

The bell rang again.

_Impatient little shite. _

Casually, he held his wand behind his back and opened the door, ready for any curse that was bound to come hurtling his way. But nothing happened.

Hermione gave him a sheepish smile and shuffled on her feet. "Ermmm ... I am sorry to disturb you, but... " She noticed his coat. "Oh, you're going out. I'll leave you to it." She half-turned away.

"Why don't you come in?" he suggested charmingly, stepping aside and opening the door farther for her.

This had to be his lucky day. She obviously hadn't figured it out yet, _and _he didn't have to snatch her away elsewhere. The Mudblood had been kind enough to surrender herself to Lord Voldemort by arriving at his doorstep. How considerate of her.

He withstood the desire to smirk triumphantly and kept his expression absolutely harmless and inviting, as she quickly turned back to face him.

"If you're not in a hurry," she replied, gesturing at his raincoat.

He wondered why she was here; it was rather odd since she seemed to be eager to speak with him about something, something important judging by her expression, although he had no idea what.

He shook his head, smiling. "Just grocery shopping," he revealed casually. "It can wait. Come in."

"Thank you," Hermione said, relieved, and she moved past him, "I won't take much of your time."

"I have all the time of the world," Tom replied in his rasped voice, closing the door behind her like a predator that had finally boxed in its prey.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: **Santa Claus failed to give us Tom last year, while we'd been such good girls. *Glares at roaring with laughter readers* Fine, fine, then ... he should have sent Tom to ... _punish_ us for not being good. Yes! *Is relieved to have found the solution* But _noooo_, no Tom. *sobs* So, we still own NOTHING from the Potterverse and we get no money for writing this magnificent piece of Nobel prize-worthy literature.

**A/N: **We want to thank all those for reviewing. They are the only payment we get, so kudos to you all: Vinwin, BlueSkyHeaven, Holly, Ceralyn, WeBuildThenWeBreak, EasilyAmusedReader, MidnightThief15, cosettex, Merih, sweet-tang-honney, patie, Spirit of The Gauntlets, enchantingelana.

Holly: thank you!

**Warnings: ****EXPLICIT LEMON! **HJ, Oral, Dom, "Bond", dubious consent. Don't like, don't read ... or by all means flame away. We could use a good laugh every now and then. Now, we know we chose to put an earlier lemon not on this site. But that decision was partly made because the lemon was Tom's curse, and besides that it caused the lemon to be a far over the top experience for Hermione, it also contained smut with his snake-faced version, and we posted this story here in the HG-TMR section and not in the HG-LV list. *grumbles over the silly distinction made by FFnet*

xXx

_Special thanks to Lady Miya for looking over this chapter with a pair of fresh eyes. That was useful advice you gave us. We knew something was off in this chapter, but just couldn't put our finger on it. _

xXx

* * *

**The Gold Puppet **

**Chapter 12**

Hermione stood in the middle of the living room, glancing around nervously before finally allowing her eyes to land on him. He gave her an amiable smile, which she returned with a weak one of her own.

"Nice flat," she said politely and stared back at her hands which were now fidgeting nervously deliberately.

She knew she had to make it look good in order for him to buy it. Besides, she really was somewhat nervous about what she was planning to do. So many things could go wrong. However, she'd reached this decision last night, while tossing and turning in her bed over everything that had happened the previous day. She'd been such a fool, but she wouldn't let any man get the better of her ever again. From now on, she'd take control of the situation—not the other way around. And if people didn't like it, well, they could just drop dead for all she cared. Ron Weasley first.

Tom shrugged. "I suppose," he replied humbly, waiting for her to continue, which she didn't. So he added, hiding his impatience fabulously, "How did you know where I lived? I sold my family's mansion."

"I have friends at the Ministry," she grinned. "They told me your address. Sorry, hope you don't mind...?" Her eyes darted to his ruined dresser.

_No way_, Tom thought, alarmed_._

"Is something the matter?" he asked, drawing her attention away from the _illegal_ _potion_-stained dresser, while placing his raincoat plus cup back in the cupboard next to the front door, as he watched her with concern plastered on his face.

He'd hidden his wand back in its holster at his arm, where he could easily draw it if necessary, but so far so good. No Aurors and certainly no Potter in sight. He really doubted the great Harry Potter would let his friend enter his flat alone if he thought Seth was Lord Voldemort.

So, Tom relaxed but only slightly. After all, Granger was devious and concerned enough for the insipid boy's safety to have only alerted the authorities, and _they _would have no problem allowing the Mudblood to enter on her own. He took in her uncertain demeanour, trying to ascertain whether or not she figured out the truth.

She nibbled her lower lip, while a frown found its place on her forehead. He took a step towards her, and she glanced at him, uncertainty shining through her eyes. _Now or later? _

_He wasn't close enough—later._

Tom raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to open her mouth and talk.

He found this extremely odd, since her Horcrux self hadn't been able to shut itself up at all. For her to be speechless ... unless it was about what happened at the pub. He almost smirked, but caught himself, remembering that the witch stood right in front him.

She took another few peeks at him before she heaved a sigh. _Did he have to stay a million miles away? Perhaps if she delivered her news first?_

He chuckled, "You're making me worried. Should I expect horrid news?"

"I'm going to Australia today," she blurted out, taking him by shock.

He quickly recovered, though he kept the stunned expression, just so he could analyse what unfolded in front of him without the need to say something. Why was she travelling to Australia? Was it just a ploy to make him lower his guards? Before he could think further, the answers were supplied to him by Hermione.

"My parents ... well, you know about how I've gone on a ... well, hunt, with Harry last year," Hermione started to say, eyeing him to make sure he was keeping up.

He nodded briefly and motioned for her to continue.

"We were looking for Voldemort's Horcruxes—I'm not sure if you know what they are ... You probably do, since you enjoy reading so much, but then again, they're really objects of the Dark Arts, and many of the tomes that include information about them are _illegal_..."

He kept a look of interest on his face while she prattled on about what he had already known. Although he had to admit that some pieces of what she was telling him were interesting after all. Somehow, that stupid Horcrux had concealed the information about her parents from him, even when he performed Legilimency on it. It was certainly useful to gain this knowledge. He couldn't wait to see the cup's reaction later, now that he had something to hold over her head.

"... Hogwarts next week, I thought I should visit them, even if they no longer remember me," she finished—a bit annoyed he hadn't come closer. Surely, propriety demanded of him to comfort her with her dreadful news. She'd never get a shot at it if he kept her at arm's length like this.

"I see," he answered, a sympathetic expression sliding onto his face. "I understand how you feel, since..." he trailed off, and Hermione stared at him, her eyes wider than usual. He turned around so that he faced away from her, allowing her to believe that he was upset about remembering his dead "family".

"I'm sorry," she apologised softly. "I didn't mean to make you remember..."

"It's not your fault," he replied, turning around slowly, his face properly melancholic. A few moments of silence passed between them. "You've mentioned that you've cast the Memory Charm on them, have you not?"

She nodded, glancing at him curiously.

"Have you asked anyone at St. Mungo's in regards to how to reverse the effects of the charm?" he asked.

"There is no way to reverse the effects. It's why I chose it." She shook her head, pain and regret clearly visible on her features. "I've read up on them beforehand. I ... I didn't think there was a chance for Harry to defeat Voldemort. It seemed so ... _impossible_. Have you seen how he performed magic? Lord Voldemort, I mean. Harry..."—she groaned in frustration—"Harry's an excellent wizard, but ... but..."

She buried her face in her hands, so she missed the triumphant glint that passed through Tom's eyes upon hearing her words. So ... at least the little Mudblood was intelligent enough to see who was the better wizard between the two of them. That made him think slightly higher of her.

She dropped her hands, and he promptly put on an attentive look again.

"Thank Merlin he chose the wrong curse though," she commented, rolling her eyes. "You would _**think **_that after firing the Killing Curse at Harry _for three times_ and it backfiring on him _for three times_, the git would've learnt to use something different. It's pretty obvious to anyone with half of a brain that it's _**not **_going to work. I mean, come _**on**_." She giggled. "Well, maybe he did get his brains fried in the cauldron during his resurrection, or,"—she tilted her head—, "maybe Pettigrew did mess up on the potion." With that said, she broke down into a round of laughter.

Tom gawked at her, not knowing how he should react. On the one hand, his hand twitched to reach for his wand and hex the hell out of the little wench. On the other hand ... as much as he hated to do so, he had to admit that she did have a point. But to hear it from her mouth...

"There might be a way to recover their memories," he said coolly, in an attempt to break off her annoying laughter, and naturally, it worked like a charm, since it concerned her parents.

"Healer Lewis told me about it already," she nodded, sighing again, "but he said that it would only recover the memories that they've shared with me. But the things that happened when I was not around them..."

"I'm not talking about that way," he gave her a faint smile.

"But ... but there is no other way. It's impossible," she said softly, shaking her head from side to side, a bit thrown off by what he seemed to suggest. "Healer Lewis—"

"—is a psychologist Healer, which of course means that he has limited knowledge about other fields," he finished her sentence. "He's excellent with patients who had traumatic experiences, but memory issues are not his forte."

"I ... You ... But ... You're not joking with me, are you?" she asked, clutching to her chest with her hand, a look of disbelief and joy emanating from her face.

"Of course not," he answered smoothly. "Although I would have to go through my N.E.W.T. notes on Potions again. It's been awhile since I last brewed it. But there is a particular potion that reverses the effects of Memory Charms."

To be exact, he had to travel to Knockturn Alley to pick up a couple of ingredients for the potion, which was created by Severus Snape. Those ingredients certainly could not be found in reputable stores. And the recipe was already in his mind. It was a rather useful potion, and he had used it on some of his Death Eaters and prisoners, who had thought that Obliviating themselves could prevent Lord Voldemort from seeing their memories. Ridiculous. Of course, he had already shown them the consequences of being utterly stupid.

"Recovering their memories would be a gradual process of course, but..."

"Has the potion been tested though?" Hermione asked sceptically. "A lot of potions are created each year, but most of them turn out to be utter failures..."

"The potion was created by Professor Snape," Tom quickly added. "My only good subject. Thank Merlin! Can you imagine not being good in Potions and having _him _as the professor?" He laughed until he saw Hermione raise her eyebrows at him. "Oh, sorry. I forgot he wasn't particularly fond of Gryffindors."

Hermione promptly snorted—both of them knew that Snape's dislike of Gryffindors was certainly a lot more than "not particularly fond".

"He never really had a problem with us from Ravenclaw though," Tom continued with a grin, "just those who, and I quote, 'Have such insignificant minds it would make the Founder of your House toss and turn in her grave if she knew of the utter idiocy that befouled her dormitories these days.'"

She giggled at the perfect imitation that accompanied his speech.

"So, you did your N.E.W.T. exam on his potion?" Hermione concluded, to which he nodded.

"I needed a good grade from him," Tom shrugged and gave her a wink.

She smiled and let out a sigh of relief—she knew what an excellent Potions Master Snape was, so the potion would most likely work.

"If it really works ... I was thinking," she said softly, "if my parents are happy the way they are right now, I shouldn't take that happiness away from them. I shouldn't be the one who decides their fate ... but if they're unhappy..."

"If they're unhappy, you have an alternative now," he finished for her.

She nodded and quietly gazed at him. Apparently, she still had something else she wanted to talk to him about, so he waited. He hadn't forgotten she suddenly appeared here, and her babbling so far had not _completely_ reassured him it was safe yet.

Finally, after she'd seemingly gathered enough courage, she opened her mouth again. "About yesterday..." she murmured. Her voice was barely audible. "I..."

She looked away again, pretending to be unable to finish her sentence, though now Tom thought he had a hunch in regards to where it was heading towards.

"I understand ... you were feeling unhappy yesterday, and you needed some comfort," he said, allowing his voice to break at where he deemed appropriate. "I—"

"I didn't know what came over me," Hermione interrupted in a small voice. "I—I—"

She looked extremely miserable, though he wondered why. Was it because he had been mistaken and she _was _attracted to Healer Lewis after all? And she regretted what had happened at the bar yesterday? That thought in itself made him want to hex the man under his sink right that instant, but he knew he had to control his temper. Besides, he hadn't been wrong—Lord Voldemort never was. He'd seen in her mind it wasn't Lewis she'd wanted. She wanted him. Her actions in the pub were proof enough. It had to be why she looked so crestfallen, she was embarrassed and her morals probably told her to stay away from him.

_That_, he would not allow.

Tom stepped towards her.

Hermione could barely contain the triumphant smirk that threatened to erupt on her face when his hands gripped her hips and he pulled her against him roughly—_close enough_. Her hands came to rest on his biceps inconspicuously, while he looked down at her with a dark glint in his eyes.

"What happened yesterday was meant to be," he spoke scratching. "I don't think less of you for finding enjoyment and release in me, and neither should you."

Her hands caressed down his arms softly. "Oh?" she asked, faking shyness and tilting her head questioningly.

He leaned in, until his mouth was next to her left ear, and whispered sensually, "Or do you consider me unworthy now, because of the way I made you feel?"

Hermione moved her lips to his ear, rubbed her right leg against the back of his, and whispered back in an equal tone, "Perhaps I found the experience rather unfair to you."

She licked his ear, and he sighed, relieved she hadn't come to tell him that their actions had been all wrong and they shouldn't see each other again. Not that he would have allowed her to make that decision anyway. He closed his eyes when she continued trailing soft kisses at the side of his neck.

_Now!_

Abruptly, her fingers slipped into the sleeve of his right arm, yanked his wand from its holster there, and tossed it away. His eyes flashed open in alarm, but she'd already gripped both his wrists tightly, and the leg, that was previously rubbing him pleasurable, tackled him. He plunged to the floor backwards, while she went down with him, falling on top of his body. He noted she used her full weight to pin down his wrists, and her wand was between her fingers and his left wrist.

"Incarcerous!" she whispered, smirking at him when ropes flew around his arms and tied them together above his head to something he could not see.

_Treacherous, little hussy._

He expected the door to fly open and the cavalry to enter, but her mouth found his and she kissed him long and hard. Tom blinked and looked at her surprised as she moved back into a seated position on his stomach with her legs on either side of his body. An incredibly devious expression erupted on her face.

"My turn," she said triumphantly, while trailing her wand over his shirt. "Evanesco!"

She grinned at his stunned expression when he found himself completely naked underneath her.

"Oh, oopsi," she said with a wink. "My wand must have been a bit too excited. I planned to just vanish your shirt."

He scowled at the obvious lie, and she sniggered in response.

"I'd better put this away," she wiggled her wand in front of his face teasingly, "before I do some actual damage."

Tom's eyes followed carefully where she stashed her wand away.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, thinking about stealing it from me?" she chided.

"The thought had crossed my mind," he replied with an upward curl of his mouth.

"You know what they say about bad boys," she softly stated, leaning forward with her hands next to his head.

"They always win," Tom speculated loosely.

Hermione shook her head slowly before whispering against his lips, "They need to be punished," she paused, tilting her head, "severely."

He felt himself grow hard at her words alone. Sweet Salazar, he had nothing to hide it with this time around. He'd already tried to loosen those restraints on his wrists wandlessly, but he hadn't lied when he'd told her, he could only perform simple spells like that. Alas, her Confining Charm proved too strong so far for him to simply break it in one shot, but it seemed he had some time available, for she had now captured his mouth again in a passionate kiss and had lowered her body on top of him.

_Oh yessss, he definitely had time. No hurry._

While their tongues were pretty occupied with each other, her hands stroked through his hair before travelling down the sides of his face to his neck and passed the sides of his torso. When she reached his hips, she shifted her weight slightly to the side and captured his erection in her right hand. Slowly, she caressed him, using the fluid already leaking from his tip as an effective massage oil. His heart began to speed up at her diligent touches, and he felt his blood pulse harder and harder through his veins to reach that place he so desperately needed it to be now.

Tom moaned into her mouth and bucked against her when she suddenly squeezed him hard.

Chuckling, Hermione moved her head back and gazed into his lust-filled eyes. "So, this bad boy likes to be punished," she contemplated and gave him another squeeze.

A shudder ran through him, and he grunted, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, she was so close he just had to kiss her. So, he lifted his head. Quickly, she moved back farther, clicking her tongue in disapproval and removing her hand from where he preferred her to keep it. He couldn't withhold the disappointed groan that left his lips unwanted. Her fingers trailed upward over his chest before ending on top of his lips.

"You need to learn to behave," she said, pushing his head back against the floor harshly.

And she began inspecting his jaw, his neck and his shoulders with her mouth, her tongue and her teeth, leaving behind little bites—not enough to break the skin, but hard enough to make him shiver in desire. Hermione moved down to his chest, taking her time with both of his nipples. She licked, sucked, kissed, and bit them, until he thrashed underneath her and let out a ragged scream.

He could feel her smile against his skin just before she blew a long breath over both his nipples. The sensation that rushed through him from such a simple act on her part made his entire body tingle, and he could feel his cock pulsing hard in wantonness, while her mouth did all kinds of things to his belly, going lower and lower and lower.

Tom lifted his head and looked down at her. Desire flooded his entire being.

"What are you doing?" he rasped between shallow, uneven breaths.

She looked up and smirked. "You may have three guesses," she replied, taking the base of his cock in her hand and lowering her head to it in a teasingly slow manner, while maintaining their eye contact.

His eyes darkened. She licked the tip once, twice, and then, grinned when he growled frustrated.

"Speechless?" she enquired teasingly. "For I didn't hear you guess."

"Don't want to distract you by having to reply," he answered suggestively.

She swirled her tongue around him and withdrew. "I am not that easily distracted."

"Prove it," he dared her.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Her fingers tightened harshly, and his legs jerked in a kneecap reaction.

"Depends," he breathed out in a feeble attempt to make it sound casually.

"On what?"

"Your technique."

"I'll think you'll find my technique quite..."—she pressed her mouth slightly over his tip and sucked it briefly—"... _sufficient_."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"No," Hermione said coolly, "you won't be. Today, I am your judge, jury and executioner."

And she began to orally please him. Pretty soon, his mind couldn't make a coherent thought anymore. It was solely focused on the intoxicating pleasure she granted him. She had both hands on his hips now, but was unable to keep him down completely. He was just too strong for her to hold down in this manner. Being a lot lighter than him, she missed the leverage she needed. So, frequently, he got down deeper into her mouth than she'd planned, making her gag.

However, to his astonishment, this didn't make her stop or use magic to hold him contained.

On the contrary, it seemed his uncontrollable, violent, fiery reactions to her only made her try to take him in farther, while she sucked him harder and harder. Noises that were too primitive to be screams left his lips, and with a burst of power, he broke his bounds. She didn't notice it until his fingers wrapped themselves into her hair and forced her head farther down. Her teeth clamped around his cock immediately, and he froze.

"Move it or lose it," she growled against his flesh.

The vibration of her throat nearly made him come. And he absolutely adored the way she grazed her teeth sideways to underline the threat she made; not to mention that he happened to be one of the few who didn't mind the use of a bit of teeth there. So, it sent a delicious titillating rush through his body.

"Then what am I going to hold on to?" he teased.

"Not my problem."

"It is now," he said and pushed her down a little farther, enjoying the way her teeth scratched his flesh and the discomfort that flashed through her eyes briefly.

"Grab your own hair," her muffled voice suggested boldly.

"I like holding you there," he retorted immediately, though he admired the way she didn't give an inch both literally and figuratively speaking.

"Tough."

"One hand then," he negotiated.

She glared up at him. "Do you think I make idle threats?"

They gazed at each other silently. Slowly, he removed his hands and held them up in a gesture of surrender. Eh, he was quite attached to his little Lord. He'd seen enough of Hermione Granger's actions in her own memory to know she would be capable of following through on her threat.

"That's a good boy," she purred and took him in farther than he had pushed her, causing herself to gag.

His hands mowed around; his nails scratched through the woollen carpet, trying to find something to hold onto and failing miserably, while she sucked him feverishly. She did things with her tongue that made his eyes bulge out and had him yelling at the top of his voice. But when she added some teeth to it, he took her earlier suggestion to heart and grabbed his own hair. His heart pounded so hard it was going to explode, and he needed air, desperately, for he couldn't breathe. Too much ... it was too much pleasure, too much passion, just too much...

For Salazar's sake, this witch was trying to kill him.

She chuckled around his cock when she saw him pull hard on his hair and withdrew completely, waiting a second, until he caught his breath and looked down at her with a wild hungry expression on his face. Hermione reached out to his head, wrapped her fingers around his arms, and pulled his hands down to hers.

Confused, he followed her lead. What was she planning to do now?

"Very well," she conceded. "It would be a shame of that nice hair of yours if you pull it out." He blinked surprised when she placed his hands in her hair. "But if you choke me, I'm going to haunt you for all eternity."

"I'll get a Ghost Restraining Order."

"I'll ignore it," Hermione deadpanned, while her hands massaged his balls.

"They can _en-enfoooorce_," he moaned, "it."

Tom was barely able to finish the sentence before he let out another deep groan, because she slid up his shaft with one hand, rolled her palm over his tip, and rotated her hand before sliding it back down. All the while her other hand was still caressing his balls, and he tightened his grip on her hair.

"Pfffttt... you're counting on the Ministry to do something?" she asked rhetorically, holding her hands still for a moment. "Boohoo, I am so scared now. The Ministry of Magic will come after my ghostly body."

"They've enforced those Restraining Orders before," Tom countered, amused by her distrust in the inner workings of the Ministry.

"Only because the ghosts were too stupid not to see them coming. It's relatively easy to avoid detection if you're not solid. Also, those devices they use to try to entrap a ghost in ... _not good enough_. I read about them in my fourth year, and please, I can't believe any ghost stayed in there and didn't see the obvious way out. The only reason I can think of is ignorance, because the seams of those boxes are not secured. All you have to do is change shape and you whisk away."

"Most ghosts don't think about changing shape," Tom replied, impressed with her reasoning. "They are too hung up on their original form."

She nodded in return. "I wouldn't be," she warned and squeezed his cock hard again.

With a deep guttural howl, he bucked into the air, and his fingers dug into her curls, putting due pressure on her roots. Her laugh wrapped around his body like tiny fingers tickling him all over, and he shivered.

"I'd use whatever means at my disposal to make your life a living hell," she finished.

"I'll put personal wards around myself."

Hermione sniggered. "Wards don't work against ghosts and you know it."

"Have you ever been told that you're one hell of a scary little witch?" he asked dead serious.

"Many times. And you don't want to be on the receiving end of my vengeance," she threatened.

"I'll remember that," he replied, smirking.

"Good," she purred, satisfied.

After which, she moved her head back down and continued where she left off. Pretty soon, the same overwhelming frenzy sensations ran through his body again. Merlin, where on earth had she learnt how to do this? He'd never seen anything in her mind that suggested she was anything but pure and innocent; but boy, the girl had skill and—he writhed in an aching delectation—was rather sadistic in using said skill. She'd get him closer and closer, and then, didn't bring him there were he needed her to bring him most—his release.

A low hiss escaped his lips when she slowed down again. He almost pushed her head down as a warning, but realising that probably would not get him where he needed to be, he refrained from the urge. But she was pushing it. He was getting desperate.

She glanced up at him tauntingly. "Do you need something?"

He glared at her, but some of his normally extremely frightening gaze was diminished incredibly by the hopelessness that darted visibly through his features. A hopelessness Hermione found rather endearing, because somehow, she felt it was not something he was used to feeling. She winked at him.

"You might get what you need if you ask politely," she said mischievously.

He scowled. "Or I can just take it," he suggested, roaming his fingers through her hair warningly.

She shrugged. "Bad little boys don't get nearly as much pleasure as good little boys do," she warned back, and she licked his tip again, grinning when it twitched.

"I beg to differ," he commented with his eyes closed.

"It's just one little word. I'll make it worth your while," she promised, and her eyes darkened sensually.

It sparked his curiosity. But he didn't beg. He was Lord Voldemort. Still, that look in her eyes held a promise and...

Merlin, that devious, little, manipulative witch really should have been sorted into Slytherin, for he had no idea what he should do next. Lord Voldemort never asked for anything—he took it. But now the little Mudblood had him wondering if something else might be more pleasurable. Damn her and her conniving ways. His fingers tightened his hold on her hair.

Keeping eye contact with him, Hermione moved her mouth slowly around his shaft, so he could witness how his thickness filled her.

_Oh yeah, definitely Slytherin with tactics like these._

Screw it; nobody was here to witness it. He wanted to know. Tom gritted his teeth. This was going to cost him. The tension between them skyrocketed, and it added on to the anticipation of what was to come.

Finally, he garbled reluctantly and completely incomprehensible, "Please."

It was barely audible for that matter either, but seeing what it had cost him to say it, Hermione let it slide, just this once. Next time, he'd better learnt English or she'd show him.

With a meticulous attention, she began to explore every part of him with her mouth—her eyes continuously on his face—as she moved up and down in such a deliberate, unhurried, lazy manner that he could witness his pulsing cock enter her deliciously moist cavity over and over again. He couldn't keep his eyes off the sight. It wasn't so much that the physical sensation was different, but it was just magnificent to see it all.

She was glorious when he perceived how she took him as far as she could in slow-motion, when he watched her struggle against her gag-reflex, when he noticed how she eagerly received his accidental thrusts, when he witnessed her mouth close around him as if she was sucking on the sweetest lollipop ever. He loved how she claimed him, while he claimed her. That just flat out did it for him.

Quickly, Tom Riddle did something he'd never done before: he warned her seconds before it happened.

Hermione smiled, but instead of withdrawing her mouth fast and finishing the job with her hand, she pushed her mouth down and sucked harder. He clutched to her and yelled while he spilt his hot release in her. Seeing her swallow it made him thrash and buck against her. He had to release his grip on her hair or he was sure to pull out huge chunks. So, he dug his nails in his hips, leaving tiny, bloody, half-moon imprints behind. But he didn't feel the little pains due to the all-consuming gratification of his orgasm.

She kept sucking until he softened in her mouth. Then, she waited, holding him there until he had regained his composure and was able to look at her again. He stared at her—his mouth slightly ajar.

A small smile graced her face before she began, ever so leisurely so he could witness it all perfectly, to trace her lips along his flesh, licking him completely clean before releasing him fully. She sat up and wiped her mouth clean. That small smile returned when he did nothing but gape at her.

Again, something that never happened to Tom Riddle before: he was speechless.

She bent forward and gave him a chaste kiss on his lips, while summoning her bag in her hand.

"Owl me," she ordered, very satisfied she'd gained the upper hand in their relationship.

With a crack, she Disapparated before he had a chance to reply.

For a long time, he just lay there, unmoving; until he got cold and realised he was still undressed. Scrambling to his feet, he walked over to where his wand lay and picked it up. He performed a quick Cleansing Charm on himself, because he'd perspired significantly. With an elaborate swirl of his wand, he performed the counter charm to the Vanishing Spell Hermione had cast on his clothes, and they reappeared out of non-being and whirled back around his tall frame as if nothing had happened.

But Tom Marvolo Riddle knew something had happened, and it had changed everything.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **We would like to say that we own Harry Potter, so that we could officially own Tom. Alas, we must convince J.K. Rowling to hand over the ownership first, which means, sadly enough, we are still very poor and don't own anything that you recognize from this fic.

**A/N: **We'd like to thank everyone for reading, fav-ing, alerting, and reviewing: Spirit of The Gauntlets, mel, Hiskerian, carriemarie, Ceralyn, enchantingelana, WeBuildThenWeBreak, sesshomari, sweet-tang-honney, cosettex, MidnightThief15, murtagh799, susannajulia, adalis, Amber530, Vinwin, Hatsumomo Smile, OrangeSoxz, patie, Merih, Alrauna, BlueSkyHeaven, LeSinner, Sokolski.

mel: Thanks for the compliment, and we're glad you like how the story's developing so far! Hope you enjoy this chapter, too!

* * *

**The Gold Puppet**

**Chapter 13**

Locked inside a magically warded Muggle vault in his flat, Helga Hufflepuff's cup hopped around in the limited space, annoyed. She'd tried to contact her other self, but apparently, Riddle hadn't been wrong when he had taunted her: there was no way she could reach as far as Australia.

_Of course, __**he **__would know all about how far Horcruxes could reach. Bastard. If ever there was to be an Olympic event testing for hypocritical, no-good, stinking bastards, Riddle would definitely get the gold. _

Hermione knew he was off to St. Mungo's again and she was worried sick about Ginny. However, all her careful planning to have Lord Voldemort tell her real self who he was had been foiled by her stupid bodily self. She just couldn't believe what had happened.

A pissed growl left the cup.

Of all the people to go down on, she had to pick _him._ Ugh.

The cup rammed against the metal wall as if banging her head in sheer frustration.

What was wrong with her? Didn't she have eyes? Did she lose the ability to use her brain completely? Those mood swings at the pub when they were on their way out, surely, she should have recognised those! It was so similar to Harry, especially during their fifth year.

Perhaps she had split her brain, too? Because it seems her real life body wasn't using it.

Sure, she'd recognised some changes in herself. Soul splitting apparently had some odd side-effects—certain personal qualities seemed to enhance, while others lessened. It was like your inhibitions disappeared fully. Of course, she'd always been bossy and controlling in every other aspect of her life ... and she'd always preferred to be that way when it came down to sex as well; but she'd been certain it would scare Ron away if she was that forward, so she'd refrained from the urge—buying her time.

However, she'd spent her holidays getting informed on what was possible when the dolt would finally be ready. Well, she did love to read about _everything. _And her parents did have a large stack of books about sex and had always been very open about the subject whenever she had questions. Some of the things she'd read about, she'd been dying to try out to see what it was like.

But really, _REALLY_ to pick him of all people. Ugh, ugh, ugh.

Too bad it hadn't scared him away.

The cup scowled.

No, he had actually enjoyed it. Well, it was the only good thing out of this rotten situation, because she had thrown _that _back in his face when he'd started taunting her about "her" actions. Mr. Overbearing, High-And-Mighty, Control-Freak hadn't liked that. Lord Voldemort had to be in charge all the time.

She sniggered gleefully.

Well, _he _hadn't been. She, _a filthy Mudblood,_ had bested _him. _Relishing the moment when her other self had yanked his wand away, tackled, and bonded him, she sighed. That certainly had been fun. The rest would have been fun, too, had it been someone else.

The cup's gold darkened with her mood.

Well, at least it proved she could put theory to practise, but still... why him? Why pick "Seth MacDougal", who so obviously wasn't Seth MacDougal?

Sure, Ron had been an arse, and had she been there in that alley with a wand, she would have sent something a lot more damaging than a bunch of birds at his face instead of crying over him. To go fuck a whore instead of confronting her about her actions with Lewis, the coward! If only he'd said something, if only he'd talked to her like grownups should do, maybe they could have figured out together something was wrong.

But no, he had to show his cruel side to her again by making snide remarks to her, by bringing Lavender along, and do his usual running away from the problems. The stupid Sorting Hat needed its head examined. Arthur Weasley had been right—never trust an object that could think for itself if you couldn't see where it kept its brain. If the idiotic, hypocritical, Slytherin, male chauvinistic pig hadn't burnt down that Sorting Hat on Neville, she would so feed it to the Acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest, never mind that she couldn't get near them without getting eaten first.

If ever she had a chance to leave this cup, the first thing she would do was kick Ronald Weasley's pathetic arse all across the planet. She couldn't believe what she ever saw in him. He'd hurt her so many times over the last years: not taking her to the Yule Ball, completely ignoring her feelings after Ginny made him realise he'd never snogged anyone, using that stupid book to pretend he cared, and then, the icing on the cake really was him leaving her and Harry alone.

No, Ron could drop dead for all she cared. She was never taking him back, _ever_.

However, Riddle was not a valid substitute. Somehow, she had to inform her stupid, ignorant self about that. Why pick another unfeeling, cruel individual after you ditched the first one?

So what if Riddle was handsome.

Yes, grudgingly, she had to agree with Ginny on that one. Tom Marvolo Riddle was very handsome. Far too handsome. He had a nice, tall, lean body with really great hair, which was so black it seemed to have a bluish shine at times ... and that face ... really ... that shouldn't be allowed on evil menaces as him. It was very fitting he altered his looks before. He should do that again. Yes, definitely. It would make things so much easier if she didn't have to deal with those intense gorgeous dark-brown eyes of his, which could gleam with excitement whenever he talked about magical subjects.

And Merlin, he sure knew an awful lot about magic. It was so nice to finally be able to talk to someone about magical theories, who actually had a rebuttal and didn't look at her with dropped jaws and their eyes set in a glassy, bored manner. He was so damn clever and he knew his Arithmancy. She just loved Arithmancy and no one else took the class, so she'd never been able to discuss it before. Not that they would have been able to see the intricate value of it like Tom could ...

By Godric, she was drooling over ... _Tom _I-Am-Lord-Voldemort _Riddle_! Yuck, yuck, yuck.

So, he was intelligent—big deal. She already knew that. Intelligent in his own special delusional Dark Lord way.

The cup rolled her eyes.

Too intelligent. If only he'd been stupider, she'd have won this battle already.

A sigh echoed through the little box.

But ... he was rather easy to manipulate if you pushed the right buttons. She stared ahead into the darkness. She had to figure a way to get him to lay off Ginny. Apparently, she couldn't count on her other self to come to the rescue any time soon, so it was up to her. Somehow, she had to convince Riddle to heal Ginny for real or at least for as far so the redhead could function normally in the outside world again.

What could she say to make him see it was in his "best" interest to leave Ginny alone?

Racking her brain over a strategy to deploy, the cup started brainstorming in silence.

In the mean time, the exact situation, which the cup tried desperately to find a solution to, was moving full speed ahead in the wrong direction.

xXx

"Hello, Ginny," Healer Lewis said in a most amiable voice. "How are we doing today?"

Nervously, Ginny shifted in her seat, her hands clasped around the edges of the wooden seating.

"Fine," she mumbled.

Maybe she could go home if she just ignored the voices and visuals and stopped telling people what she thought she heard and saw?

"Fine," Healer Lewis repeated, making a notation in the opened file on his desk, while his blue eyes twinkled in amusement. "I see."

Why did that man always sound like he enjoyed her pain? She recalled that intonation well. No, no, he wasn't Riddle. She had to stop seeing Riddle everywhere. He was gone, dead, and as long as her mind kept doing this, they wouldn't send her home. She wanted to go home.

"No more visual or audible hallucinations, then?" he enquired after a brief pause.

She shook her head, not meeting his eyes.

"Seen Tom Marvolo Riddle in anyone today?" he added with an upward curl of his lip.

_Not until this appointment. _

"No," she whispered instead.

_He__'s not__ Riddle; he__'s not__ Riddle; he__'s not__ Riddle. _

She knew she'd be alright if she just kept reminding herself of that.

"Good," he praised, while scribbling down something again.

She leaned a bit forward to see what he was writing down, but was unable to decipher it. His script was so tiny, elegant, and neat, and ... she'd seen that handwriting before. She closed her eyes and swung back and forth in her chair_—_a dizzying, nauseating sensation ran through her body forcefully at the memory of writing in his journal and reading his replies to her.

_Not real, not real, I'm seeing things again__—__like when I tried to kill __D__ad. _

"Hermione Granger is also a patient of mine," Lewis said casually, watching her reaction with clear anticipation.

Ginny's hands clutched to her seat.

_Hermione, the Chamber of Secrets, that's how it started, Riddle had possessed her. No, no, it was just a figment of __my__ imagination. _

"I hope you don't mind, _Ginevra_?" Lewis drawled slowly.

All colour left her freckled face. That was exactly what Tom had insisted upon calling her, and he said it in precisely the same tone of voice, though with a different accent.

Slowly, she looked up, in a way people did in horror movies when the monster stood right in front of them and they hadn't noticed it before. The Healer leaned backwards in the chair in a posture he'd never used and that somehow didn't fit his corpulent physique. However, his eyes_—_that gaze, its intensity. It had the wrong colour, but yet ... it was him. She'd seen him too many times when she'd visited him inside of his journal not to recognise it.

_No!_

She rubbed her fingers through her eyes to clear it of the frightening image and to make her recall she had to get better.

"You remember Hermione, don't you?"

She nodded, still not done rubbing her eyes, though now she felt like cleansing her ears as well, for he sounded so mocking, so taunting, so ... _Riddle-ish_. But she had to keep herself under control. Home, the Burrow, her mother, Harry, she had to see them all again outside of these four walls.

"Mind telling me who she is, _Ginevra_?"

"Ginny," she snapped, looking up feverishly. "My name is Ginny."

"It says Ginevra right here on this file," Lewis responded knowingly. "Besides ..." he paused, tilting his head and meeting her eyes, "I think Ginevra is much more fitting for such a lovely young girl, so I prefer calling you that if you don't mind, Ginevra."

Exactly the same line, exactly. The same smooth tone, the same lack of an actual question mark at the end of the sentence, made clear by the corresponding missing upward infliction at the end of the line.

And how she remembered her silly answer vividly. "Of course not, Tom," and she had giggled stupidly after that.

She had giggled. What a moron she'd been. Her posture tensed and her knuckles turned white from clutching to the seat.

And now that Healer used the same sentence. That couldn't be a coincidence, could it? Maybe he did it on purpose to test her, to see if she would fall back in her delusions?

But he couldn't know; she hadn't shared the information with anyone. Well, she'd talked some to Hermione about it. She was the only one, who would listen to her and just hear her out, but she hadn't told Hermione the exact sentencing; she hadn't told Hermione all the details. And he used the exact same words, the exact same tone. He didn't look the part; he _**was**_ the part.

Maybe she wasn't even here? Maybe this entire conversation took place in her head again as had happened before according to Patrick. She liked Patrick. She trusted Patrick. He was kind to her. He didn't lie to her like this Healer did. Shocked, she realised what she'd just thought and she looked down. George had gone to all this trouble to get her very expensive help and she didn't let him help her. That wasn't right, was it?

"Look at me."

His order echoed through the office like a reminiscence of the past. Unable to do anything else, she met his eyes again. Fear rushed through her as a poisonous enemy. She had to lose this journal; she had to lose it now.

"Answer my question, Ginevra," he hissed. "Or I will become very disappointed in you."

So similar; could it be?

"Who is Hermione Granger?"

"My_—_my friend," she muttered, staring at him with suspicion.

"So, she is not Tom Riddle?" asked Lewis, pointing his oak wand at her file and closing it in a flutter of leaves.

His journal had always closed like that.

"No_—_no, she isn't," she stuttered.

_You are_.

"Are you sure?"

"Hermione is my friend. She is not Riddle," Ginny replied steady.

_He only possessed her, like he did to me. _

"Do you really think her situation is so similar to yours, Ginevra?"

Had she said that out loud? Shit, she had to be more careful.

But before she had time to recuperate, Lewis continued, "I've spoken a lot with Hermione recently. She's having some very nasty symptoms. She hears voices, has blackouts, and finds herself in places she can't remember how she got there."

Blood drained away from her face. See, she'd been right. He'd been possessing Hermione; maybe he still was? She had to warn her, tell her, stop Riddle before it was too late and Hermione would be dead like she almost had been if it hadn't been for Harry. She had to get out of here and talk to Hermione.

Why wouldn't they just let her see her? Why wouldn't they let her visit, so she could talk to her? She was sure if she spoke with Hermione about it, she could make her understand what was happening. She was sure of it. Hermione was smart; she'd understand; she'd believe her if only she could tell her what it was like exactly. Why had she never been more precise to Hermione what it had been like? Why had she kept some things to herself? She should have told her. None of this would be happening if she'd not felt so embarrassed and hadn't kept so many things to herself. Hermione wouldn't have condemned her, but her silence would condemn Hermione now. Oh Merlin, if Hermione died, it would be her entire fault. She had to get out of here. She had to pretend she was alright. It was her only chance to ever speak to Hermione and explain everything.

"That's what happened to me," she replied demurely, realising she had to give the Healer some response and knowing he would know what had happened to her.

Besides, everyone always told that son of a bitch everything he wanted to hear. The world hadn't changed much. And she had to stop doing this. _Healer Lewis, Healer Lewis, Healer Lewis_, her mind tried hard to memorise it and to make it so she would believe it.

"Yes, I ... remember it well," he said evenly, placing both hands behind his head.

Remember it well? Odd way to phrase it. And did he really have to sit like that, like Tom?

"So you think because Hermione has blackouts like you did, your situations are alike?"

Now there was an upward infliction at the end of the sentence, but his question had such a condescending aspect to it that the room became chillier to her. She shook her head in denial, knowing that if she said yes, there would be more disgusting potions, more pills, more alleged Healing Charms, and a much longer hospital treatment.

She hadn't felt like herself ever since she entered this building. Only those first few days when Patrick had started his shifts and refused to feed her some of those potions, she'd felt better then, more coherent. She hadn't seen the world dance, or heard people whispering all around her when no one was present. Her mind hadn't made her experience terrifying images, like those bugs crawling over her arms or those flies swarming around her head. Flies that came out of the millions of maggots in the decomposing corpses that covered her floor everywhere. If she had to use the loo, she had to walk over them. Their bones snapped, cracking under her weight; their rotting flesh sobbed around her feet; the maggots tried to cling to her flesh, too_—_and it _stank_.

It stank so badly. She was glad that she no longer had those hallucinations, but the experience still clung to her like superglue.

And she was doing it again, resisting her treatment, her cure. Wasn't the fact that those terrible things were gone now a clear indication that her mental health was improving? That those potions and all the rest of it were helping her? That Healer Lewis did have her best interest at heart?

She looked up and glanced at the man, determined to see the good in him and failing miserably. Despite his totally, _totally_ wrong exterior, all she could see was evil. All she could feel was evil. All she could hear was evil. All she could taste was evil. All she could smell was evil. It was like a penetrating cloud you could not escape from. It engulfed you and wormed its way inside of you, until you could no longer breathe anything but that evil.

Everything she could sense had Tom Marvolo Riddle written all over it.

"Healer Lewis" had a smirk on his pitted face that made her grow as cold as ice. But mostly her eyes drew to his stubby fingers, for in it, he was twirling his oak wand around in a too familiar gesture and he smiled at her, oh so knowingly, oh so viciously, oh so dangerously. Her breaths became shallow as she tried to sit as still as possible, as if that would keep the predator across the table from not spotting her, from not harming her. She wasn't safe here; she wasn't safe anywhere. He was always around her these days, always somewhere, in someone around her.

"Ginevra, Ginevra, Ginevra," he clicked his tongue, "when will you learn?"

She trembled in her seat. She had no wand; she was defenceless.

"When I ask you a question, you will reply," he said coolly, rising from his seat in a manner that was far too lithe, far too powerful, and far too sensual for someone in that hideous body. His wand trailed over the desk, scratching the surface threateningly, as he moved around the desk and approached her frozen figure.

"It's what we agreed upon years ago."

He halted in front of her and leaned with his butt against his desk casually, crossing his legs, while staring down at her with an utter vile and triumphant expression.

Horrified, she looked up. She wasn't hallucinating. This was real. He was real. But George ...

"What did you do to the real Healer?"

He glanced at his watch and pulled a little flask from his pocket. "He still has his uses, takes up a lot of closet space though," he replied, smirking. "I believe it is almost time," he said, "unless ... you'd prefer to see me again?" he winked.

"The only shape or form I prefer seeing you in is as a corpse," Ginny hissed.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he leaned forward, placing a hand on her shoulder, while his wand pressed in the hollow of her throat. "One thing you need to learn about threatening people, Ginevra, is that it doesn't work if you can't follow through on your threat, which is so disappointing," he said conversationally as if they'd been talking about the weather instead of his murder, "especially seeing how Hermione Granger did give me an important message to relay to you."

Ginny's eyes widened. She hadn't seen Hermione. Was it because he held her captive? But why wasn't anyone missing her then? He was lying. He had to be. He always did.

"She said, 'tell her she has my blessing to kill you.' Too bad you're in no position to do it for her. A couple of more weeks in my care and she will never make that statement again," he said smugly, downing the flask's contents fully.

"What have you done to her?"

"_Oooh_, and I thought you already knew _everything_," he mocked.

"I know you've been possessing her, like you did to me."

His laugh danced around her and he leaned back, crossing his arms, while shaking his head. "I am so sorry to disappoint you, dearest. But you were just collateral damage, a vessel needed for a much worthier goal. The Mudblood will_—_"

"Don't call her that!" Ginny shouted furiously.

"_Crucio_!"

It was nice to have an office such as this, he considered, while the disgusting blood-traitor thrashed and writhed in agonising pain on the floor; her legs had kicked the chair so violently it lay in several pieces against the door. And her screams were higher than he'd ever heard before, delightful.

_Yessss_, this room was nice indeed; Lord Voldemort should really copy it and make some minor adaptations to fulfil his needs.

In order to maintain the patient's privacy, the walls were coated in the most powerful Silencing Potions, making sure no outsider would be eavesdropping on the conversations inside. And when his patient light outside was on, nobody could enter without his consent, which only needed to be given mentally to preserve the safety of the Healer inside in case of an emergency.

Still, he had to add his own wards and Silencing Charms, because Unforgivables or other Dark Arts Curses would trigger the hospital's alerts. But it was convenient nevertheless, definitely worthy of looking into one of these days. He released Ginny Weasley of the Cruciatus Curse and began circling her shaking and sobbing body.

"So, where was I?" he asked rhetorically, kicking her around in her side, so she'd have to face him.

Her face was wet with tears and her body still shook from the curse's aftermath. He squatted down beside her, cursing that stupid belly mentally, while he tapped his wand against his chin.

"Now, the _**Mudblood**_," he emphasised, staring at her for a second, but the "brave" Gryffindor had no more objections against his wording, "will be much more valuable to me than you ever were. Sure, I possessed her for a couple of times to turn a few things into my favour, but it's not her main purpose as it was for you. No, I need her as she is, Ginevra Molly Weasley. I need that little Mudblood to live up to her potential and become everything she could be, all of course in order to service me, the greatest wizard of all. No, Hermione Jean Granger is not expendable like you were, like your family is, like ... _the Saviour of the World _will be, _**soon**_."

He sniggered, stroking her face with the back of his hand.

"You're going to wish you really did smother her, disgusting blood-traitor that you are, because I promise you when you leave these walls completely '_cured_',"—he made little quotation marks in the air with his fingers when he spoke that word in a voice dripping with venomous delight—, "that little witch you once called your friend will be capable of destroying you all with a snap of her fingers. _And_ she will be all **mine**."

"No," Ginny spoke hoarsely, shaking her head. "No, Hermione would never do that."

He patted her on the head demeaningly.

"Have a little faith, Ginevra. There is nothing Lord Voldemort can't accomplish."

He tilted his head and a fondness that scared the hell out of Ginny spread all over his Polyjuiced features.

"She already went a hell of a lot further with me than you ever did and she's got spunk. Apparently, she is not such a silly prude as you were. Do you know how revolting it is to have to deal with all that nagging about 'Will you respect me in the morning?' and 'Do you _looooove_ me, Tom?'," he snorted. "No, I do prefer a woman who knows what she wants and takes it. Too bad your stupid pumpkin brains brother couldn't see what was right in front of him."

"You—you destroyed their relationship," Ginny hissed.

"I'd loved to take all the credit, but I have to say that dunderhead did a lot of the damage all by himself. Fucking that whore in Knockturn Alley ... beautiful ... I wish I'd thought of it, but I didn't have to. His one brain cell made that decision freely." Tom laughed loudly at Ginny's appalled expression. "He made her run straight into my arms, crying. I should probably send him a thank you card."

"Ron wouldn't do that," Ginny said, shaking her head. "He loves Hermione."

"Love, such a stupid emotion. It's why people stop using their brains and act on impulse. If he'd not been blinded by love and had a functioning brain to begin with, he might have noticed something was off about some of her reactions. He might have noticed that she was under the Imperius Curse when he saw her kissing me. But he ran instead, leaving his 'love' right in my arms. It's his M.O. right, leaving people to face Lord Voldemort alone, while he hides behind his mummy's skirts?" he snarled venomously.

"Yesssss, running away, it seems to be the only thing your brother is good at. The only Outstanding he'll ever receive for anything in his entire pathetic, soon to be short life. But then again, your entire disgusting family never did help much. Why do you think I never bothered you lot to begin with? Such an utter waste of my time. I have better things to do, more important people to spend my time on, real threats to eliminate. The only reason you've now gained Lord Voldemort's attention is because all nine of you will be useful in tearing down Potter to little bits and pieces. He's already boohooing over the oaf's death. It will be my pleasure to push him over the edge one joyful inch at a time."

An ecstatic happiness flushed through him upon considering his plans to get his revenge on that blasted ant that just wouldn't die on him, and he rose to his feet, gazing in sheer delight at the girl who would assist him just fine in accomplishing it. He tapped his wand in his hand contemplatively and summoned a bottle from his heavily warded cabinet next. The empty glass was already on his desk.

A whip of his wand and the chair reassembled itself and scooped up Ginny Weasley from the ground. The chair swirled around and landed her with a thud against his desk, her feet underneath it and her arms on the tabletop. A tap of his wand on her head and she was completely immobilised from her waist down. Moving behind her, he placed the glass in front of her and poured the fluorescent green but still transparent liquid from the bottle into it. Casually, he corked the bottle again and banished it back to the cabinet. He grabbed her wrists and rammed them on the tabletop when he noticed her planning to throw the glass to pieces.

"We can do this the hard way or the easy way," he said in her ear, squeezing her wrists so tight she let out a delicious whimper. "Personally, I prefer hard, but if you've even an ounce of intelligence, you'll spare yourself the pain. And believe me when I say, I have so much of this potion, my dear, I could drown the entire planet in it and still have leftovers afterwards. So, try and throw it away, see how much good it will do you."

He released her arms and leaned back coldly. "Drink up, Weasley."

"Wha—what is that?" she asked fearfully.

"Have you learnt nothing in all those years at Hogwarts?" he mocked. "There aren't that many potions with these characteristics. Surely, you're smarter than your brother and can deduce what this is?"

Ginny stared at the potion, confused. She'd never seen or heard of any potion like it, and she was absolutely positive it wasn't a good sign she hadn't. It had to be illegal.

_Well, duh, he was using it._

"No?" he continued in that same condescending, taunting tone. "Oh well ... you'll find out after you drink it." He placed both hands on her shoulders. "Now, Ginevra, I don't have all day anymore to spend with the likes of you, so ... bottoms up."

She wasn't moving. She couldn't get herself to just pick up that glass and down it. No matter if it was going to happen anyway, she wasn't assisting him in destroying her. She wasn't.

Abruptly, his wand poked in her cheek.

"Now," he hissed, "or I will hold you under the Imperius Curse and have you visit the sexually deprived male patients in ward seven. It will be so much fun to undo the Imperius once you're inside and helpless against them. They have rather perverse ideas on what women are for and there are eight of them in that one room. You'll be having a lot of 'fun' getting ripped apart. They'll use every orifice of your body in ways you can't possibly begin to imagine, and afterwards, you will still drink this potion."

With trembling hands, she picked up the glass and brought it to her lips. Closing her eyes, she tilted it and swallowed it all as fast as she could, not wanting to think about what was going to happen to her. It had no taste, nothing to identify it with, and she placed the empty glass on the table, worrying about every little alterations, every little detail or sensation she didn't feel inside of her.

"That's a good girl," Riddle purred, satisfied. "You'll be getting all the help you need, Ginevra. Don't you worry. We'll take excellent care of you."

He laughed mockingly, while he stepped back and vanquished the glass.

Panicking, Ginny realised it was like she had drunk water. Nothing seemed to be happening, but that couldn't be it. She had to be missing something. She—

With a cry, she doubled over, grabbing her hair and yelling loudly. Merlin, so much pain, so much sorrow. Every bad decision, every nightmare of her life returned in tenfold and expanded rapidly, enhancing the emotions so much it felt like she was on fire.

"Water," she whispered, her eyes darting around desperately. "I need water."

"No water for you."

The words echoed coldly through her mind, but they brought no relief. No water! She'd die without it. A bloodcurdling scream left her lips and she banged her head hard against the tabletop.

"Stop, make it stop!" she yelled—blood poured from her bruised nose, colouring the wood darker.

Mentally, he called for assistance and pretended to restrain her when they entered. It took six of them to carry her back to her bed and bind her to it.

"Make sure she ingest nothing but Calming Draught for the rest of the day," he ordered in the doorway. "Don't let her drink any water. She's having a nasty side-effect to the Blissflower Potion. Water will make it worse."

He turned on his heels, smiling satisfied, knowing that the Calming Draught would immobilise her body but not her mind and the rest of the effects his potion would give her. The two just didn't mix well together. Ginny Weasley was about to have one hell of a time, and the beauty of it was that no one would notice. They'd think she was quietly resting—"_healing_".

He snorted.

So, when he was going to feel like it, and he wouldn't for a long time, he'd give her the antidote, and stop the Calming Draught. But by that time, she wouldn't be capable of normal comprehension ever again. She'd be putty in his hands. He left St. Mungo's that day knowing a good part of his job there was done for good.

One Weasley down, eight more to go.

Little did he know, a gold cup was smirking pleased at having found a method to save Ginny Weasley. _Nine more to go. _


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **Yadi, yadi, yadi... you know the drill. Don't own - no money - and loads of sobbing now.

**A/N:**we'd like to thank everyone for reviewing: Summer Leah, enchantingelana, Vinwin, BlueSkyHeaven, EasilyAmusedReader, patie, sesshomari, WeBuildThenWeBreak, sweet-tang-honney, OrangeSoxz, Hiskerian.

* * *

**The Gold Puppet**

**Chapter 14**

"You sure waste a lot of time on Ginny Weasley," Hermione taunted. "Developed an attachment when she wrote to you, Riddle?"

He raised an eyebrow at the cup and smirked. "Why, jealous Granger?"

She snorted. "Just curious."

But he heard the badly disguised edge in her voice, and his smirk broadened. Patting the cup condescendingly, as if it had a head and was a pet, he replied smugly, "You have nothing to worry about, _honey_. The only interest Weasley holds to Lord Voldemort is her connection to Potter. Watching his girlfriend go insane will thoroughly destroy the insipid boy."

His cruel statement was met with loud laughter: gleeful, annoying, mocking laughter. Tom folded his arms over each other and considered drawing his wand and "practising" some of his darker spells on her; but he waited patiently instead. Lord Voldemort had all the time in the world for that silly cup to act and talk herself into a corner before she would come to remember who had the true power here.

"After all those years ..." a snort, "in Harry's mind ..." a hiccough, "you still don't know the first thing about him, do you, Riddle?"

Sniggering, enjoying some personally unshared amusement at his expense, the cup twirled around once.

"Harry is much stronger than you give him credit for," Hermione continued. "It's why you _lose every time_ the two of you meet. It's why you will continue to lose to him. You keep making the same mistakes over and over again," she ended, giggling.

"Is that so, Granger?" he rebutted, in a slightly demeaning tone on purpose. _No need to stop her chattering now._

"Yes," she said triumphantly, "that is so. Turning Ginny crazy will not destroy Harry." She snorted, again. "It will hurt him to see her like that, but that will be all. He will continue to be _Harry Potter,__"_ (Tom narrowed his eyes at hearing her speak that name with a truly unearned reverence), "_The-Boy-Who-Lived._"

"That can be remedied easily," he snarled viciously, not at all enjoying the way one of his possessions seemed to hold his enemy at such high esteem.

"Oh, sure, try _that_ again. Maybe four times is a charm?" Hermione mocked.

Tom narrowed his eyes at imagining hers rolling, and he itched to curse her into oblivion, but he wasn't a Slytherin (_The Slytherin_) for nothing. So, he snorted back mockingly and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"And I suppose _**you**_ have _all_ the answers," he said condescendingly, "because _**you**_ always know _everything,_" he paused, tilting his head, considering, before adding lightly, "Miss E in Defence."

The cup bristled as he had known she would and he thoroughly enjoyed that. She always said too much when she got emotional and he really needed her to keep chatting now. He hadn't believed the moment that he would want _her_ to keep talking would ever come, but here it had arrived.

"At least I don't live in my enemy's mind and keep losing to him, because I am not paying attention," she snarled. "If losing his parents, his Godfather, ... Albus Dumbledore and so many others didn't destroy Harry, do you really think he will fall to pieces with the pathetic game you're playing with Ginny now?" she huffed. "You truly are insane. Sure, it was a good way to start, but now you're going about it completely the wrong way. Harry lives to take care of others, to rescue them, to be the hero of the hour, and you're stupidly providing him with exactly that which makes him rise to the occasion: someone who needs to be taking care of."

Another snort left the cup before she ranted on.

"No, in order to destroy Harry Potter, Ginny should not need any care in the end at all. She should be fully capable of normal comprehension and be just as self-sufficient as she used to be. But you have to make sure that by that time Harry knows he is not the hero at all. He is the villain who not only missed the pain of his girlfriend and didn't prevent it, but who caused it. It will shred how he sees himself to pieces. It's so obvious, but you, Lord Voldemort, the great thinker," she sneered, "don't even see it."

She laughed mockingly.

"I mean ... he left her! Left her all alone while you were in charge. The terrible things that could have happened to her ... You are such an idiot wasting your time on stupid mind games with the wrong individual when you could oh so easily target Harry with that. It will drive a wedge between them thoroughly, because he won't be able to look into Ginny's eyes ever again, knowing all those bad things happened because he failed to protect her properly. And no matter whether Ginny blames him or not, he will and it ..."

She suddenly halted in her rant when she saw his vicious triumphant expression. Tom was sure if the cup had had a human body, she would have slapped her hand in front of her mouth, shocked. He let the anticipatory silence linger on, relishing in the moment.

"Why, thank you, Granger," he finally said oh so softly, barely breaking that delicious silence. He drew his fingers over the cup, caressing it gently. "You have been most helpful and ... Lord Voldemort always rewards those who serve him well."

He took the cup in his hand and lifted it to his lips, giving it a teasing kiss and laughing when he felt it shudder.

"You really are a good little servant, _honey_. Lord Voldemort will remember this when he lays judgement on you in the end."

He placed the horrified cup back in its little prison before Disapparating away—a broad smile on his face. He never heard the relieved sigh that left Hermione, because he hadn't spotted why she had really shared those things with him.

_Forgive me, Harry, _Hermione thought remorsefully inside the vault, because her plan to protect Ginny's sanity had worked out perfectly.

xXx

Hermione stood in the front lawn and stared at the house hesitantly. The sun shone brightly against the blue skies, and everything seemed so peaceful and joyful, a sharp contrast to how she was feeling inside. She and her parents were only separated by a door, yet she couldn't bring herself to walk towards it, let alone knock on it.

What if her parents were happy? What if they didn't care about their previous life? What if they were upset about the fact that they've given birth to a witch and were grateful that they were given the chance to lose their memory? They'd never objected whenever she asked to spend time away from them to be with Harry and Ron during holidays. Maybe they'd been glad to be rid of her?

And what if the opposite was true? What if they weren't happy? Then, their misery would be her entire fault, because they'd been happy before, hadn't they? She wasn't sure anymore. Maybe she shouldn't have come here? Maybe it was better not to know? What if she made things worse by disturbing them? What if she couldn't fix things? What if...?

She closed her eyes and clenched her hands into fists. Doubt flooded her mind. For the past three days, she had visited this house, yet she'd never gathered enough courage to face them. Every time she almost knocked on the door, there was some reason not to do it. What if...?

_Come on, Hermione, grab yourself together_, she thought, annoyed with herself.

Every time she had scolded Harry or Ron for not doing something that needed to be done ran through her mind. But it was always easier to see right and wrong from a distance when it wasn't too up close and personal to yourself. This_—_this was hard.

_Coward..._

The word echoed through her mind.

But these were her parents. Her parents whom she had attacked and violated. Something she had thought she'd never do in a million years. Something she had sworn to herself she'd never do. She'd always seen herself as the one who would protect them against others trying to use magic on them. Never had she envisioned her to be the one to raise her wand at their kind faces.

_"Hermione?" her father had asked, looking at her with concern._

_"Dear, what's wrong?" her mother'd said, walking to her with her arms held wide. "Why are you crying? Did something bad happen to that friend of yours, Harry?"_

_"I am sorry," she'd whispered, raising her wand. _

_Her mother'd frozen and glanced at her father._

_"Put that wand down at once, young lady," her father had ordered sternly._

_"I-I ... I can't let __**him **__find you. I can't risk it. Harry'd do something stupid and I-I wouldn't..." she sniffed up her nose. "I wouldn't stop Harry then." _

_Her parents had looked at her with a mixture of emotions running through their faces. She'd seen shock, confusion, worry, and fear__—__a lot of fear. _

_"Hermione, talk to us," her mother'd whispered. "We're your parents. We can help."_

_But she'd already made her decision and it needed to be done. "I am so very, very sorry. I love you both," she'd whispered right before her wand had flashed. "Stupefy!"_

It wasn't the last spell she'd used on them and their friends that day. And no amount of extenuating circumstances could undo the fact that she'd used a Memory Charm on them. Of all the spells in the world available, she'd chosen the worst one. She'd messed with their minds and made them forget vital information about themselves. Whenever she'd heard of the Ministry using that charm on defenceless Muggles just to conceal their petty little secrets, it had made her blood boil in fury. Now, she was one of those despicable individuals.

Suddenly, the door opened and a woman with a bag of garbage in her hand appeared. She threw the bag into the trash can before she noticed the shocked Hermione standing in the front lawn. A curious expression appeared on Monica Wilkins's face. Cautiously, she moved closer to Hermione with a friendly smile on her face.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. A frown appeared on her face, as if she was staring at a particularly hard puzzle. "Have ... have we met before?"

Blinking back tears that appeared in her eyes uncontrollably, Hermione took a step back and shook her head.

"I ... I ..." she stuttered, not knowing how to tell her mother who she was. All her previously well-rehearsed excuses for being on their doorstep fled her mind like leaves from the tree during fall.

She didn't know what to do. She didn't want to be selfish ... but if they were happy, and she couldn't give her parents back their memories, watching them from afar _hurt_. A lot. And she was already experiencing that pain right now. She could see her mother, talk to her, but she could never reveal who she was. She could no longer call her "Mum"; she couldn't hug her, kiss her, and tell her how much she loved her.

Hermione observed Monica, noticing that there were a couple of more grey strands in her brown locks than before and a few more wrinkles on her forehead. Altogether, her mother looked older, much older. It had only been a little over a year's time since she last saw them.

Heaving a sigh, Hermione gave her a crooked smile, "It's just that ... you remind me of my parents."

"Oh," Monica replied, frowning. "Are they...?"

"Oh, no," Hermione immediately answered, realising that Monica thought her parents were dead. "It's just ... they don't quite remember me anymore. They are—er—_ill_."

"I see," Monica nodded sympathetically.

"Have you lived here for long?" Hermione asked slowly.

"A couple of months now," her mother responded, sighing. "We've moved around a lot this year. We just couldn't ..." she stopped, realising she was about to tell a complete stranger she hadn't been able to find peace anywhere. Besides, that young woman looked sad enough as it was, no need to make it worse by adding her troubles to hers.

"It's quite a quiet neighbourhood around here," Hermione commented, looking around her surroundings. "And the people seem happy."

She waited with bated breath, half of her heart wishing her parents were happy and the other half hoping they somehow missed her, although it was _impossible _since they were Obliviated.

Monica shrugged; a friendly smile reappeared on her face. "I guess."

_An ambiguous answer__, useless__._

"Is there something wrong?" Hermione questioned, trying to get to the point in a hurry.

"No ... no, why would there be?" Monica asked in return, suspicion flashing through her eyes.

_Too fast._

"Oh ... I just thought ... b-because of your answer ..." Hermione stuttered.

Normally, she wouldn't have a problem lying, but with the guilt of Obliviating her parents hanging over her head and her emotions in an uproar, it was a lot harder for her to keep calm.

Monica didn't answer, but the suspicion on her face grew. Suddenly, she broke off eye contact with Hermione and stared behind her.

Before Hermione could turn around to see why, a hand was placed on her shoulder and a sense of comfort and calmness enveloped her. She no longer had to turn to know who was there, because his presence had gained a certain distinct, recognisable quality to her, and she couldn't quite pinpoint what it was that caused it. She'd never felt this way around Ron, Harry, or Viktor for that matter.

His breath brushed her ear, and his familiar raspy voice whispered, "Did you find your parents' house?"

She turned her head slightly and simply nodded.

Seeing her reaction, Tom gave her a faint smile, and then, placed his attention on Monica.

"Good day," he greeted her, a perfectly amiable expression on his face. "Please forgive my fiancée. She's a bit wary about moving back here with me, since my mother told her horrible stories of her experience here."

Monica's suspicious expression waned a little. "Did you live here when you were younger?"

"Yes," Tom replied, placing his arm around Hermione's shoulders. "My parents moved to London when I was three. To make a long story short, they aren't exactly the happiest people on Earth to begin with, so I doubt there's a place in this world that would satisfy their needs." He chuckled. "My mother hated the fact that I've considered moving back here, so she started telling Hermione her horror stories. She probably hoped it would put a damper on our plans." He gently kissed Hermione on the forehead.

Monica sighed. "I understand, but I'm sure it's simply because your mother loves you a lot and wishes for you to remain closer to her. London is a long journey to make if you want to see each other. I wouldn't want to be sep..." A fleeting look of sadness appeared on her face when she stopped speaking, but it wasn't nearly fast enough for Hermione to miss it.

She could feel her heartbeat quickening; could it be that her mother did indeed miss her? It was pretty obvious that she was pretending to be happy. Hermione felt a pain slice through her heart at the notion she had caused her parents pain.

"I guess." Tom gave a short nod.

Monica smiled again. "Any parent would wish that their children were constantly near them. It's horrible when such a bond is broken."

Hermione gazed at her; her eyes teared up again and she couldn't stop them from falling down her cheeks now.

"Oh," Monica said, horrified, slapping her hand in front of her mouth and rushing to Hermione.

Quickly, Tom pulled Hermione against his chest and wrapped his arms around her to keep the woman somewhat at a distance. It was pretty obvious Granger would fall apart completely if Monica Wilkins hugged her and it was even more obvious to him it was exactly what the woman had been planning to do.

"I am so sorry," Monica said, her hand hovering inches away from Hermione's shoulder, while looking apologetically in his direction, because Hermione had buried her face in his clothes. "Your parents ... you told me. It was inconsiderate of me to say that. Please forgive me."

Sniffing, Hermione gave a couple of quick, small head nods in response—not feeling up to the task of talking.

"Look, ermm...," she gave Tom a questioning look.

"Seth MacDougal," he replied warmly, giving the woman a courteous nod since his arms were pretty full at the moment. He looked down with an overly concerned expression for the woman's sake and added, "My fiancée, Hermione Granger."

"I am Monica Wilkins," she replied, holding out her hand and then retracting it again when she realised he couldn't exactly shake it now.

_Yeah, superfluous information. Come on, stupid Muggle. Stop beating around the bush and ask us inside. I know you want to._

"Why don't you come in for a second? I can make some tea," Monica suggested, trying to make amends. "I can tell you some things about this neighbourhood, so you can make a more informed decision. We don't live here long, my husband and I, but we have a dental practise, so we have seen most of the people here."

"That would be most appreciated, Mrs. Wilkins," Tom replied politely, sending the insignificant Muggle a grateful smile. "Right, honey?" It amused him sincerely to use that word for her now, and he hugged Hermione a bit tighter. "You can ask her _**all about**_ what it's like here, so you don't need to go on my mother's word."

Before Hermione had a chance to react and possibly reply _the wrong way_, he had already wrapped his arm around her shoulder and moved them past the Muggle fast, while mouthing thanks over his shoulder in the woman's direction. He got the expected relieved expression back and he was positive Monica Wilkins would be most accommodating from hereon. There was nothing a little guilt trip wouldn't solve. And should she become unhelpful, well, he knew a few spells that could make her do what was needed _if _it was absolutely necessary. Lord Voldemort wasn't spending any unnecessarily additional time with a bunch of Muggles if he could avoid it.

Swiftly, he moved past the threshold, though he could now feel the reluctance in Hermione's body. Did she want or didn't she want to see her parents? If she got him here interacting with Muggles for nothing, he would be ... _displeased._

"What are you doing here? How did you find me?" she asked, whispering.

He couldn't respond straight away, because Muggle Wilkins passed them and showed them the way to the living room. Hermione blew her nose in _his_ handkerchief, and it absolutely delighted him to see she had kept it with her. After some more apologetic words, some meaningless small talk, and an enquiry of whether they preferred tea or coffee (he made sure to choose the opposite of Hermione, so Monica would stay away longer), the woman left them alone on the couch to go to her kitchen.

"I found the potion recipe," he answered her previous question, turning sideways on the couch to face her, while giving her a reassuring smile, "and it's not exactly hard to find out where the famous Hermione Granger has gone." He paused for a moment. "So when are you going to use the potion on them?"

"I—I'm not sure, Seth," she replied softly. "I don't even know if they're happy or not."

Tom frowned. "Isn't it quite obvious?"

"But—we don't know for sure," Hermione answered, twisting her fingers. "It's all just guesswork right now. Monica—my mother—could've simply just had a row with my father—which is quite normal—it—it—"

The snort slipped right out. He just couldn't help himself, because even to someone unskilled in Legilimency, it should be obvious Mrs. Wilkins wasn't upset over a simple row.

His snort got the expected glare as a reaction. "These are my parents," Hermione hissed under her breath. "I have to be one-hundred percent certain. I—I can't ... if I do this wrong too ... I have to be sure." And she folded her arms over each other decisively.

"Fine," he responded, noticing the stubborn way she held her jaw when she was finished, and said, "Then, what _**do**_ you want to do?"

"I don't know."

"Then, what _**will**_ make you one-hundred percent certain?"

"Are you here to help or be a nuisance?" she snapped.

"I am obviously here to help," he replied quietly, showing her the scroll in the pocket inside his jacket. "If that means I have to be a nuisance so be it. You are wasting _my_ time with all this feeling sorry for yourself."

Hermione gawked at him. _How could he possibly be so inconsiderate?_

"And even worse, you are wasting yours and your parents' time," he added coolly, like he was totally unaware of her indignation. "Time you could spend together with them again," he continued smoothly, softening her up, "seeing how _this nuisance_ has taken the liberty of bringing you all the potion's ingredients you need as well."

He flicked his wand and magicked a sachet out of the air, dangling it in front of her. And to his satisfaction, he saw her discomfort about having called him a nuisance when he so obviously had gone through so much trouble for her.

_Humans and their silly, feeble emotions, it worked all the time._

Tom pocketed the sachet quickly before she would reach for it, making sure she'd stay depended on him for the solution to her dilemma.

"You need to make up your mind about what you want, Hermione," he said, his face set in a comforting, understanding, yet decisive way that allowed for no contradicting arguments to be made, while he placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned closer to her. "So, what do you want?" he breathed intimately, giving her shoulder a soft squeeze.

She bit her lower lip. "I want my parents back," she whispered.

_Finally, progress._

He almost rolled his eyes, but merely settled for a reassuring smile that got almost wiped off his face when she added, "But I want them to be happy, too."

_Perhaps he should Crucio the entire Granger line into insanity before they drove him there?_

"Well, we are here now. So, ask your questions," he said calmly, though inside he felt like exploding, "find out if they are happy or not. It shouldn't be that hard. We can always dose their drinks with some Veritaserum if you want to be _one-hundred percent_ certain," he added tauntingly, kissing her full on her mouth, while she bristled angrily over his last suggestion.

"You—you—" she stuttered when he withdrew slightly; she seemed completely lost for words.

"Me what?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Ugh, you are impossible."

"But you do feel better now, don't you?"

She huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest, while sticking her nose in the air away from him.

Tom smirked at her attitude and said in his most conceited manner, "I am known to always be _one-hundred percent_ right all the time."

Sighing, Hermione closed her eyes. _Really, someone in this room needed a reality check badly. _

However, inside of her she was smiling softly, and when she felt his hand at the back of her head, turning her back towards him, she opened her mouth before his had reached hers. A passionate kiss followed and she slithered her arms around his neck, pulling him to her. His arms wandered through her hair, down her neck, over her back, before squeezing her buttocks and pulling her in his lap. She pressed herself against him, hard, while roaming her hands through his hair. She really, really liked his hair.

A soft cough made her freeze.

_Oh no! No, no, no, no, no. This wasn't happening. My mother didn't just walk in on me making out with a bloke on her couch. Thank Merlin, my father isn't in._

Her face flushed in embarrassment, she tried to wiggle off Tom's lap, but he held onto her with a devious grin. "You really don't want to turn around now," he whispered to her lips.

"Hello, Monica," her father's voice sounded behind her, "and who have we here?"

Hermione groaned and stared at Tom in horror. "You can always Obliviate this from their memory," he suggested mischievously. "Though, I recommend doing it _after_ you fed them the potion."

All she did was close her eyes and bang her head against his shoulder. Life was so unfair.

xXx

The gold-coloured bubble popped and the droplets sprinkled back into the silver-coloured fluid. When the first trace of smoke started to swirl above the cauldron, Hermione dropped the crushed dried lily petals in and watched the liquid turn a forest green colour.

Seconds later, _his_ hand hovered above the potion, waiting for the right moment to drop the mandrake sap in. Her eyes unconsciously followed the contour of his arm until she was looking at his face.

He still looked awfully handsome to her, even with that frown creasing his forehead.

She tried to stop the furious blush from appearing on her cheeks, but to no avail. She was seriously acting like a silly little schoolgirl, drooling and swooning about her crush. But she did have good reasons to do so. She honestly admired how, on top of everything else, he was able to steer a conversation in any direction he wanted. If there was anything she wished she had, it would be social skills. She was completely inept in that field.

Her meeting with her parents had gone extremely smooth simply because Seth was there. He always managed to ask the right questions; her parents were so at ease around him that they told him the most intimate details about their lives. They'd got enough information in one evening to conclude that her parents were extremely depressed because they didn't have a child, something they had wanted even before they were married. Hermione was positive that if Seth hadn't been there, it would've taken her a lot more time to figure this out. Additionally, her parents absolutely loved him; they very nearly wanted to ask them to stay for the night, had Seth not hinted that they had "plans" later on. Her parents had looked at each other knowingly and had smiled.

For the first couple of nights, Hermione had been staying at a small hotel near where her parents lived. However, when Seth found out, he insisted that she moved to the flat that he was borrowing from "a friend of his". Hermione had been a bit hesitant at the beginning, but then, he reminded her that they would need to brew the potion somewhere and he doubted hotels, wizarding or not, would appreciate the fumes and smoke.

She smiled, appreciating his thoughtfulness and kindness. She had been really surprised and touched when she saw him in front of her parents' home. After all, she'd never really found a bloke before who would do so much for her.

His dark-brown eyes momentarily turned from the cauldron and stared into her eyes, and his lips curved into a smile, to which she answered with a shy one of her own. She felt her cheeks turn warm again when she realised that she would have no problem ogling at those beautiful eyes of his forever. The way he was looking at her now reminded her of how he gazed at her after chatting with her parents while he held her in his arms, reassuring her that everything would be alright and that he would help her. She had felt so guilty after their meeting, knowing just how much pain she had brought upon her parents. She had been so sure that everything was her fault, but then Seth stood firmly by her side, comforting her.

It was so ... unlike Ron, who had never done anything for her ... or for anyone, actually. It was always someone else's fault, not his. Especially when he was pushed into a corner, he would automatically start pointing his finger at everyone else. He didn't even have the guts to face the consequences of what he had done.

_As if it was Harry and my fault he was a bloody coward. _

Honestly, when was the last time, he had offered a solution to anything? Well, except for that time back in first year, but that was playing chess. She wondered how could he be so bloody brilliant in playing chess but awful when it came to using his brains for everything else.

_Seth, on the other hand, had always been understanding, intelligent, kind, supportive, charming, handsome..._

She seriously wouldn't have a problem snogging him right then and there, if he hadn't lowered his eyes again to observe the boiling potion. Scratch that. She wouldn't have a problem jumping on top of him and having her ways with him right about now. She grinned, recalling how she'd taken him by surprise in his flat. That had been fun _and_ he had not stayed away from her afterwards. He'd sought out her whereabouts and came to her, while all she had demanded of him was to owl her. That showed he cared about her, right?

Perhaps ... she should tackle him again for—for ... _disobeying_ her orders? After all, she hadn't got any owls. She glanced sideways. Nope, definitely not an owl.

She mentally sniggered, wondering what had got over her. She had never been so ... _obsessed_ with someone like this. Sure, he was the embodiment of everything she ever desired in a man, but this was a bit over the board. So, she shook her head gently, trying to shake off her wants and, hopefully, her obsession, too.

But at that precise moment, he picked up the ladle and languidly stirred the potion. Looking at his pale, long-fingered hand, she was suddenly reminded of what happened in the pub in Knockturn Alley and she very nearly groaned out loud, wishing someone would just douse her with cold water.

Beside her, Tom internally laughed to himself. It appeared that no Amortentia was necessary for Hermione after all. He could see it clearly in her eyes how obsessed she was about him. The Legilimency he performed on her in the brief moments they had eye contact was almost unnecessary—the keyword being "almost", of course. He really did like how she was praising him in her mind, and it was pretty obvious that it would be quite difficult for her to voice those thoughts out loud. Additionally, he absolutely adored how she was consciously bashing pumpkin brains in her mind.

And those naughty little thoughts going through her mind—he certainly wouldn't have a problem if she put them into action. Not to mention, they did have some time before the potion was finished. But he wouldn't allow her to hold the steering wheel again.

"That should do it," he spoke up, breaking the silence.

Hermione's head snapped up, her eyes widened like a deer caught in the headlights. It was obvious she had been immersed in her thoughts previously, especially when her cheeks turned a suspicious shade of red.

"Right," she mumbled. "The—I mean, so we just wait now, right?"

Tom nodded, and with a flick of his wand, the potion bottles flew back into the cabinet. Hermione silently covered the bottles of ingredients (the ones that were highly responsive to magic) and placed them back into the cabinet.

When the last bottle was placed back and the door of the cabinet was closed, his arm snaked around her waist and she was swirled around quickly, causing her to squeak in surprise.

"Since we're finished with the brewing, I believe we have some unfinished business," he said softly, pressing her against the cabinet hard.

"We still have to finish the potion," she replied, smiling playfully as she looped her arms around his neck.

"It needs to boil for two hours or so," he answered, running his hand down to her leg and placing it right at the hem of her skirt. "We have plenty of time."


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: **Still not ours, and yes, you guessed correctly ... we get no money from posting this chapter either.

**A/N: **We'd like to thank everyone who reviewed: carriemarie, Ceralyn, Vinwin, anchantingelana, sweet-tang-honney, Spirit of The Gauntlets, sokolski, Hiskerian, MidnightThief15, patie, Summer Leah, BlueSkyHeaven and kara.

kara: We're really glad you not only found this story, but took the time to review and enjoyed our approach to TR-HG as well. So, thank you for your kind words, and we hope you also will enjoy this chapter.

**Warnings: **Descriptive Lemon.

* * *

**The Gold Puppet**

**Chapter 15**

Tom picked her up by her waist and carried her to the bedroom, while Hermione grabbed his face and brought her lips to his, kissing him hungrily and circling her legs around his waist. Half-heartedly, she heard the sound of something dropping on the floor. She didn't know what it was, nor did she bother checking, until he untangled her from his body and placed her on the bed. She reached for her wand, only to find that it was no longer in the holster under her blouse on her back.

A low growl escaped her throat when she realised that he was the one who nicked it.

He chuckled softly against her lips at her frustration, while he placed his hands on either side of her seated form on the bed, boxing her in. As she quickly tried to scatter back to regain the upper hand, he followed suit, grabbing her leg and yanking her forcefully underneath his crawling form. Tom, quickly, lowered his body to keep her contained there and smirked at her exasperated expression.

"Missing something, darling?" he asked tauntingly, biting her lower lip gently.

"Yes," she answered through gritted teeth.

"How unfortunate," he said dramatically.

"You stole my wand," she accused as he scattered kisses across her cheek until he reached her ear. She shivered when he ran his tongue over that sensitive part beneath her ear.

"Not really," he sniggered, straightening up a bit so that they were looking at one another again, "after all, I don't have it on me. It's quite happily staying under that armchair near the bookshelf."

As if to vent her anger, she grabbed him by his shirt and pulled on it, successfully ripping it apart. With satisfaction, she listened to the sounds of the buttons flying off in different directions and hitting different things in the room.

His eyes slightly darkened at her actions, and she quirked an eyebrow at him, as if she was daring him. In a sensual, lithe move, he lifted his lower body and rested it on the side against the line of hers. His left leg entangled with hers, while her left arm was caught underneath his armpit—his wandhand propped underneath his head, he looked down at her darkly.

"I do recall," he said softly, bringing his left hand underneath her skirt to the lining of her panties, "that I've warned you about ripping my shirt."

"Oops," she replied snarkily.

He sent her a glare, which was meant to frighten her, but it caused her to giggle instead. With a fluid motion, he grabbed a handful of her underwear, and she softly yelped when the sound of fabric ripping echoed through the room. A blush blossomed on her face as he glanced back at her, a devilish smirk on his face, and his fingers slowly caressed the area where the lining of her knickers had been.

"Oops, indeed," he taunted.

She, however, didn't answer and was suddenly conscious of the fact that he hadn't exactly seen her naked before. So she lowered her eyes, but then clearly witnessed how his hand moved under her skirt. Her hips and her inner thigh still burned from him destroying her underwear, but it only made his caresses seem more gentle and sensual.

She groaned in protest when he removed his hand without so much as brushing against her arousal and sent him a glare. He grinned at her and grabbed the fabric of her shirt between his long fingers.

"My turn," he said mockingly, throwing her words right back at her.

Violently, Tom ripped apart her shirt, too, revealing her green lace bra. For some reason, his actions excited her, and gooseflesh erupted across her arms and legs. He must have felt her shudder against his body, since he gave her a teasing look. Swiftly, he swirled back on top of her, until his head was hovering directly above her left breast.

"Interesting choice of colour," he commented, a smile tugging at the left corner of his lips. His eyes met with hers. "I thought you were supposed to be in Gryffindor."

Something flashed through her eyes—confusion and realisation at the same time—and she answered in a voice close to a whisper, "That doesn't mean I have to hate the colour green."

But he knew what she was thinking; he _saw_ what she was thinking. It was also the same reason why she constantly wore skirts nowadays: the Reality Distortion Curse had affected her more than she wanted to believe. That knowledge made a feral glint appear in his eyes, and he lowered his head, enclosing his mouth around her still covered nipple, while his other hand found her other breast. To his delight, he felt her body jerk spasmodically underneath him every time he sucked and fondled her nipples.

She grabbed his head with her left hand, while her right hand held on to his arm for the support she now so desperately needed. A whimper escaped her mouth as she bit her lower lip and dug her fingernails into his arm, causing him to moan. The vibrations from his mouth made her tighten her hold on his head.

He suddenly smirked, though he didn't stop sucking on her now hardened nipple. Slipping his fingers between her bra and her skin, he curled his wandhand into a fist around the lace. With a swift movement, in which he lifted his head briefly, the fabric was magically ripped to pieces and her breasts were released from their confinement before he caught her nipple between his lips again, not wasting a second of time.

"You're ... destroying ... _ooooh_ ... all ... my clothes," she commented in intervals, amusement laced throughout her words and her face flushed from excitement.

Apparently, she didn't mind it all that much.

"Not yet," he replied, abandoning her breast, and with another motion, her skirt ended up in shreds on the floor.

She was breathing heavily now, shyness about her own body causing the blush on her face to deepen—and he had thought that she'd reached the reddest shade already.

However, her shyness did nothing to stop her from stroking his arm. Her hand then travelled to his chest while she kept her eyes on his face, noting which of her moves caused him to close his eyes in pleasure. Her hand lingered at his waist, purposely teasing him and not making any moves to unzip his pants as he wanted her to do. But he held back the frustrated growl that threatened to leave his lips unwanted. She wasn't going to best him again.

Her other hand left his head and moved down, where she proceeded to gently caress his rather apparent erection, skimming his utterly blank facade for some form of reaction, wanting to gain control.

He kept his attention on her face, his expression impassive but his eyes intense. Just when Hermione thought he wasn't going to move ever again, his eyes flickered downward and his hand slid over her hip. With a wicked glint in his eyes, he flicked his wrist, a burst of his magic hit her clit, making her thrash right underneath him. The sound of his chuckle washed over her, and her mind set on retaliation, she gripped on to the fabric of his pants' waistline with both hands.

"Not a good idea, Hermione," he said softly, his eyes never so much as blinking as he ran his fingers up the inside of her right thigh.

That sounded very much like a letter of challenge to Hermione. So, she tugged at his pants. However, to her dismay, it was a lot sturdier than his shirt and wouldn't budge. He laughed at her frustration.

"My naughty, little, impatient witch," he said, turning his head to face her again.

With a smile, he kissed her, and her heart skipped a beat when his hand finally reached her core and one of his finger flicked over her clit teasingly. She bucked towards him when he started to fondle her, all the while his tongue titillating hers. With quick and nimble movements, she unzipped his pants and pushed it down, although she wasn't able to completely take it off, since he was lying on top of it and her arms couldn't reach that far down.

Startled, he parted with her lips, only to find her smirking, pleased, at him.

"You never said I couldn't take them off now, did you?" she asked, feigning innocence.

Taking advantage of his astonished state, she started to run her fingers up and down his cock. At her actions, he unfroze, and with a growl, brought their lips together again. She responded to his kiss, fighting vehemently for the dominance that he would not hand over. It annoyed and enticed her at the same time. She loved a good challenge.

But she saw her opening when his body spasmed and slid to her left due to her ministrations. Quickly, she used his momentum to swing him further on his back, while she curled on top of him, trying to box him in as fast as she could. Triumphantly, she grinned at him and hovered just above his lips teasingly.

"There," she whispered, satisfied, "much better."

A raised eyebrow was his response, and he sighed, lowering his eyes, feigning severe disappointment at his apparent loss.

"Oh, let me kiss you and make it all better," she teased, leaning into him.

But when he looked up, she froze, because he had the most victorious evil glint in his eyes.

"I said," he glowered, pressing his full palm against her nether regions, reminding her he still had his wandhand there, "my turn."

Her eyes widened right before he unleashed his magic, which caused her to thrash on top of him. The most delicious tingles travelled up and down her body, making her toes curl and her mind a dizzying place. When she came down from her too short climax, she lay on her back and he hovered above her again. Hermione let out a furious snarl, making him chuckle and kiss her cheek teasingly, while his hand stroked the inside of her thigh, moving up and avoiding all those places she really needed him to touch.

"Tease."

"Little insolent witches need to be taught their place," he remarked ever so casually.

Her mouth opened to inform him just exactly _which place_ he needed to be "teaching", but she froze when he entered her rather suddenly with one of his fingers, causing him to grin at her shocked surprise.

Languorously, he lifted his head and propped it up on his hand, carefully watching her somewhat pained expression as he slid his finger ever so slowly in and out of her cunt, though she didn't tell him to stop. Instead she spread her legs wider and tilted her hips to grant him better access. Wild delight appeared on his face at what he supposed was submission on her part—after all, it was clear to him that she was still a virgin. His eyes darkened even more when he saw another form of discomfort appear on her face—she wanted something more. Something he knew only he could provide her with, and he wasn't granting her another climax until she'd succumb fully.

Suddenly, her eyes flickered over to him and she gave him a brilliant smile before she enclosed her fingers around his cock and started pumping him at the same speed he was moving his finger in her. His eyes narrowed, and he inserted another finger into her, attempting to force her to surrender. She squirmed underneath him and he adored the way she bit her lower lip to prevent herself from crying out loud. Just when he was sure she was going to cry uncle, and he could claim his victory and her, she reciprocated by adding more pressure on his cock, occasionally allowing her nails to scratch him.

He closed his eyes and groaned in rapture.

She knew he enjoyed a bit of pain, but he'd be damned if he allowed the little Mudblood to dominate him, _again_. Good thing he was excellent with multi-tasking, although Hermione was doing quite an excellent job at distracting him, but whatever Lord Voldemort set out to do, he would accomplish. And he was rewarded greatly when Hermione shuddered and moaned loudly the moment his magic also slithered into her core. So, he continued flexing little bits of magic down there, not enough to make her come, but enough to cause her serious problems doing anything else but focus on _his_ actions, _his_ moves, and _his_ guidance. This witch was his and she would learn to behave accordingly, and that meant she had to keep her hands to herself unless he gave her permission.

He grinned maliciously and inserted his fingers as far as he could before making a rotation motion with his wrist, causing him to caress and put pressure on every inch of her walls, while his thumb circled over her clit. The reaction was precious. Her whole body writhed and her hands flayed around in distress and rapture. He enjoyed how she threw her head from side to side and bit down hard on her lip. The moment she drew blood, however, something primal took over him and he removed his hand to lower his body on top of hers, pressing her into the mattress with his full weight.

Upon seeing the animalistic glint in his eyes, a faint smile appeared on her face, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her. Their foreheads touched and she stared right into his eyes. His tongue flicked out and he lapped up the droplet of blood that had condensed on her lip.

"You're mine," he whispered, his eyes glowing dangerously.

This woman was _his_, and he wasn't planning on letting her go. Forever.

Her smile widened and she kissed him softly, giving him her confirmation, while one of her hands ran through his hair, massaging the back of his head.

He kissed her back harshly, and he pulled up her right leg, while his leg pushed her left leg outwards. Her breath hitched when he shifted and she felt the tip of his cock brushing against her.

Her answer was not enough for him.

"You. Are. Mine ... Hermione," he repeated, his grip on her leg tightening as a warning.

But she wasn't afraid; it was obvious that none of his actions scared her. It made him frustrated; he wasn't used to the idea of a person, let alone a _Mudblood_ not following his orders. However, at the same time, it aroused him, how she didn't back down from his challenges.

She laughed quietly, giving him a peck on his nose.

"I'm yours," she conceded with a nod before she tilted her head slightly to one side and lowered her tone to a hiss, "but you ... _belong_ to me."

Nobody had ever had the nerve to make such a statement to Lord Voldemort. With a growl, he thrust into her, determined to punish her for her insolence.

She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth together, determined not to let a bit of pain get the best of her and make her seem weak.

But his cock was considerably thicker and longer than his fingers and he was using it with a lot more force, not giving her inexperienced muscles time to adjust to the new sensation of having something pump in and out of her this roughly. The pain was too much and she needed him to stop moving, _now! _

She could tell by his predatory expression out was not an option. So, her arms tightened around his shoulders, while she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him in further. A brief whimper left her lips and she clenched her legs, trying to force him to remain there. Her eyelids pressed together in agony.

Tom cherished that look on her face, so he complied and stayed still when he was fully sheathed inside her, savouring the feeling of her sweet, tight cavern wrapped around him. He felt her adapt to his presence and allowed her to relax her muscles. Gently, he stroked the side of her perspiring face and captured her lips in soft kiss. When he withdrew his mouth from hers, her eyes were open again and the way she looked at him ... the darkness in her eyes ... it thoroughly excited him.

He lowered his mouth to her neck, running his tongue over the length of it till he reached her ear. He sucked on the sensitive part beneath her ear as he began to move again, pumping inside of her at a slow pace now, having her work with him as he filled her tight passage over and over and over again.

The combination of pain and pleasure caused a thin sheen of sweat to cover Hermione's body.

Gradually, the pain started to subside and the sensations began tormenting Hermione—she _needed_ the friction. Irritated, she sent him a glare, to which he returned with a half-hearted smirk. Evidently, he was being tortured, too.

But right now, she didn't care much about his torment. Hers was the only thing on her mind, and he should bloody well move faster and harder to give her what she desired. So, she clenched her walls around his hardness instead of trying to relax her muscles to stay as wide as possible to grant herself some comfort.

Her action nearly made him lose control of himself.

This was ... _surprising_, to say the least, to Tom. His little witch was truly full of surprises and left him wondering what she'd do next. Before he could open his mouth and ask, she clenched around him again, causing a groan to leave his mouth instead. But he kept moving at the same tardy pace deliberately, having an inkling as to what she wanted from him and feeling very curious to how she would go about achieving it.

"Falling asleep on me?" she taunted.

He should have known.

A soft chuckle left his mouth and he said, "You'll see how ... _very much awake_ I am if you learn some manners."

"How courteous of you," she said, mockery dripping from her voice and her expression, "to take the time _now_ to teach me things. I feel _soooo_ privileged."

She was daring him; he could see it in her eyes and feel it in the stance of her body.

_Blasted woman_.

A flash of red passed through his eyes and he started to move at a rhythm that was nearly too quick for her to catch up. If she wanted it hard and fast, she'd find out just how hard and fast Lord Voldemort could go. And no amount of begging or pleading would make him stop now.

But she didn't beg or plead. She met his thrust with equal force and determination. Sweat drops twinkled on her upper lip and her breaths came out in a ragged wheeze. Soon, her yells of pleasure filled the room as he brought her closer and closer to that edge.

With a swift move, Tom sat up, carrying Hermione with him, his hands firmly gripped into her waist. The gravity that now accompanied his thrusts brought the sensations to a whole new level, making her pull him closer as if he was some kind of support, a lifesaver in the ocean. As she bounced up and down his shaft, she extended her hands, cupping his face and kissing him tenderly on his lips before letting her lips travel to other parts of his face. Her hands roamed through his hair down to his neck and caressing the sides of his back up and down, until she felt it coming and grabbed a hold of him panicky, afraid to fall over in that moment of total abandonment.

She tightened her legs around him, and at the moment when she climaxed, she screamed.

"My Lord!"

Upon hearing what she cried out, Tom couldn't hold it back any longer and immediately came, too.

As she slowly came down from her high, Hermione remained in his arms. Horror and satisfaction settled in at the same time, tingling her skin. His arms were still circled around her waist and her hands were still clutching to his shoulders, but her whole body was shivering ever so slightly.

No, no, no. It was impossible. She was just imagining things. She refused to believe that she had called out ... _**that**_ when she climaxed. Seth and Lord Voldemort were ... Seth and Lord Voldemort ...

Her eyes flashed over his body, taking in every detail. Some sort of realisation slowly sank in, and cautiously, she tilted her head, until she was staring directly into his dark eyes. His face was impassive, hiding what he was thinking. She had seen that flash of red go through his eyes; she'd known then, yet she'd allowed him to continue fucking her. She'd wanted him to continue fucking her. She hadn't cared about a single thing in that moment except her own pleasure. Her body went cold when she realised what she had done. Shame and guilt crashed down on her; her eyes ablaze, she mustered all the strength she had and was about to move her arm back and swing her fist at him when she felt a wooden tip press into the side of her head.

Before she could hear what he muttered, she felt every part of her body except for her head turn rigid. Her hands still held intimately onto his shoulders instead of connecting violently with his nose. She glared at him, and he gave her a mocking smirk in return.

"What's the matter ... _honey_?" he asked tauntingly, waving his wand over his throat and ending the voice-changing charm, right before saying _that_ particular endearment in his own smooth speech.

Fury at herself and him swept through her body, very nearly making her faint right there had she not remembered that she was facing _him_. The fact that she was naked and still in his arms, while his cock softened inside of her, made a furious blush appear on her cheeks.

Delighted, he laughed and placed a kiss on her shoulder as one of his hands massaged the spinal cords at her lower back; she felt her nerves sending thousands of messages to her body, but it was unable to respond, despite the overwhelming tickling sensation that made her want to move.

"Too shocked?" he asked softly as he nibbled gently at her shoulder joint and made his way up to her neck. "Or are you too ... overjoyed?"

His breath tickled her skin and would've caused her to shiver if she hadn't been immobilised.

"In your dreams, _Voldemort_," she hissed.

He chuckled against her skin, causing the vibration to travel up and down her spine, before he kissed her at the junction where her neck connected with her shoulder.

"I really do prefer hearing you call me,"—he paused, smiling, as he ran his free hand up to her head and pulled it to one side roughly by her hair, so that he could have better access—, "_'My Lord.'_"

If she hadn't known that pain excited him, she would've bitten him while he laughed so joyously. Therefore, she remained silent, not knowing what he planned to do or what she should do now.

"My intelligent, little Mudblood," he said, grazing his teeth over neck and shoulder, while letting his hand travel from her waist to her breast. He smirked when her nipple started to harden again as he fondled her. "I knew you would find out sooner or later who I am," he breathed in her ear, "but I never expected it to happen so early and at such a convenient moment, too."

He glanced at her and she averted her eyes, shameful that she was starting to get aroused by his simple ministrations.

"I can hardly wait until you succumb to me," he sighed, placing kisses on her neck and finally taking her earlobe into his mouth, sucking on it as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Her eyes fluttered shut and her tongue flickered out, moistening her dry lips.

"Don't hold your breath waiting," she replied, breathless.

He released her earlobe and chuckled, presumably because of what she'd said or perhaps because of her body's contradictory reactions to her statement. Actions meant more than words.

"It's not all that hypothetical," Tom commented, his eyes glittering all too merrily. "After all,"—he leaned back slightly and looked at her triumphantly—, "you had no problem being fucked by me, even when you knew who I was." He watched her face as she panted in his embrace, her eyes blinking but no longer averting his gaze. He could tell she wanted more from him and hated herself for it. "I wonder how dear Harry would react, if he knew that his best friend slept with his mortal enemy, _freely and knowingly_." He laughed; his body's tremble shifted his soft cock inside of her and her eyes unfocused briefly when he rubbed over her clit accidentally. "You will be very useful to me, indeed, once you've learnt where your loyalties should lie and who you truly belong to."

"Harry ... Harry's my friend," she breathed out.

He leaned forward again, until his lips were right next to her ear.

"You need to stop lying to yourself and acknowledge the truth, Hermione," he whispered. "You know you belong to me." He grinned. "You _**want**_ your little dream to be real. You _**want**_ to be my slave, owned and controlled by me, the greatest wizard in the world. You _**want**_ to be fucked thoroughly by me, whenever and wherever I want."

She shook her head from side to side, denying what he said, though she couldn't stop herself from getting wet from his words and what he was doing to her.

And she knew he could feel it.

"Someday soon, Hermione," he promised softly into her ear as he laid her down onto the bed. "Someday soon, you will belong to me ... _**completely**_."

With a flick of his wand, she lost consciousness. With another flick of his wand, he cast the Reality Distortion Curse on her again, painting the illusion in her ear to make sure she'd recall all about her wonderful time with Seth MacDougal and nothing else. He couldn't risk letting her remember who he was just yet, not until he was sure that she would no longer attack him over it.

But he was certain that that day would arrive soon, given her reactions to him today maybe even sooner than he had counted on. Potter wouldn't know what hit him when his best friend raised her wand towards him.

When he was finally finished with the curse, he gently caressed Hermione's hair before he rose from the bed. With a swirl of his wand, his clothes repaired themselves and flew back to his body, and he strolled over to the cauldron of potion in the kitchen. He needed to add the illegal ingredients while Hermione slept. It wouldn't settle well with her if she knew what, exactly, needed to be added to the potion.

He chuckled; not to mention the fact that Seth MacDougal still had a ... _**reputation**_ to maintain.

xXx

Scattering absentmindedly through his scrolls, Healer Lewis waited in clear anticipation of what was to come. "Seth" had told Hermione that he had an interview to attend to back in London. That part wasn't exactly a lie, since he was meeting with someone—Harry, to be exact—at St. Mungo's, but it wasn't for a job. So, after reassuring Hermione that the potion would be ready soon and that he would be back right before dinner, he had Apparated back to his flat, taken a swig of Polyjuice Potion, and had arrived at St. Mungo's twenty minutes prior.

He had to be careful with his moves, his gestures, and his word-choice around Potter, but he had some trouble removing that smirk of expectancy from his face today. This was going to be fun, deliciously evil fun. And he would make sure to show the cup just how much fun it had been. After all, her rant had sparked this idea in his mind.

Caringly, his fingers caressed the little stone hospital Pensieve at the corner of his desk. It was a cheap version with the activating runes written on it instead of carved, but it would do the deed and that was all he needed. A Pensieve was such a useful instrument to show people incorrect memories _if_ you knew what you were doing.

A cold laugh rolled off his tongue.

False memories usually showed themselves explicitly with signs of abruptness, clouds of mist surrounding the lies, and clear signs of scenes being cut and pasted together. However, this would not happen if the entire memory never existed—if all of it was a fraud. Then, it would seem like the real deal and he needed that, because he knew Potter had witnessed what a false memory looked like. His fingers clenched together for a moment, but then he unclenched them as he recalled how exquisitely Slughorn had gone off to meet his maker. Lord Voldemort's justice had been swift for the man. Potter should wish to be so lucky.

No, today, the wonderful, heroic, Saviour of the Wizarding World, Saint Potter would find out just exactly why his girlfriend snapped on the day he had been "victorious". Poor, pure, and _innocent_ Ginevra was no longer in any condition to correct what he would show Potter, and it hadn't been too hard to implant flashes of those false memories into her fogged hallucinatory mind, so they could haunt her, too—in tenfold since he hadn't given her the antidote of his other potion yet. But, depending on how Potter would react to it all, Lord Voldemort would decide on her fate— he wasn't going to just take Granger's word on what was the right approach for him to take with the silly, redheaded, uptight maiden.

With fondness, he looked at the wooden box filled with several glass vials, all containing a swirling silvery substance—some of his best creations ever. And that was saying something, for Lord Voldemort was and always would be the most extraordinary wizard on the face of this earth.

A knock on his door ended his gleeful expression, though not the emotion inside of him. On the contrary, that one heightened. Quickly, he took an additional dose of Polyjuice Potion and pocketed the flask. He wanted to enjoy this to the maximum and be able to take his time with Potter.

_Oh, he was going to take his time._

"Enter," he replied in a business-like voice, pretending to be emerged in the scrolls in front of him.

The bothersome boy entered and he waved absentmindedly with his hand to the chair in front of the desk. "Have a seat, Mr. Potter; I'll be right with you after I've finished these notes."

From his peripheral vision, he noticed Harry giving a short nod and sitting down in the chair indicated to him. A brief smirk appeared on his face when he saw the wary way Harry stared at the Pensieve.

This was going to be _**very**_ entertaining indeed.

A few minutes later, he closed the file in front of him, clasped his hands together, and gave Harry a kindly smile.

"Sorry that I've kept you waiting, Mr. Potter," Healer Lewis said apologetically.

"It's alright. I ... should thank you for meeting with me. I know you have a lot of patients to attend to," Harry replied, pushing his glasses back into place and smiling graciously.

If only Harry knew exactly _**whom**_ he was being thankful towards. The irony of the situation was delicious.

Healer Lewis leaned forward, a frown on his forehead.

"There's no need for thanks," he sighed.

"Is there something wrong with Ginny?" Harry asked, alarmed at the forlorn expression on the Healer's face.

"Ginny ... " Healer Lewis uttered, leaning back on his chair and scrubbing his face with hand. "I don't know where to begin, Mr. Potter."

"I want to know everything," the nuisance said stubbornly.

_Excellent_.

"It appears that ... a lot more things happened to Ginny ... more than I initially believed," the Healer started to say. "I was under the impression that she was just suffering from events that happened during her first year at Hogwarts. Yet ..."

His blue eyes flickered over to the glass vials; Harry's eyes followed his.

"What happened?" Harry questioned, looking back towards the Healer.

"I normally wouldn't show these to another, but seeing you are her boyfriend, and that will lead to certain ... _intimacy_, you need to be aware what kind of reaction it can trigger or she might relapse dreadfully in her healing process. Some ... things happened to her ... the year while He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was in power," Healer Lewis said quietly. "Horrible things."

He watched Harry's expression meticulously, a serious look on his face, noting the expression of fear and dread descend on the boy's face. He waved his hand over to the glass vials.

"I tried to talk to Ginny, but she wouldn't say anything nor would she allow me to extract the memory from her. The only option I was left with was to extract the memories while she was sleeping. The things I saw..."—he scrubbed his face again, allowing an expression of fury to be plastered on his face before dropping his hand—"...I can't _**believe**_ someone would do such things to a poor, innocent girl, even if she was somehow connected to someone they hated. It's obscene, disgusting, and hateful!"

Harry's breathing quickened with each word he said.

"What happened to her?" he repeated.

Healer Lewis shook his head. "I ... I can't bring myself to repeat it. It's too ..."

"Then show me," Harry interrupted, determined, and his eyes ablaze, "show me all of it. I want to know."

_Perfect._

"Harry, it's too much of a burden to witness it all," Healer Lewis said, shaking his head and pulling out a tinier flask with a greyish colour swirling inside. "I ... I made you a brief summary, so you don't have to watch the worst of it, but still get the general impression."

"No, I don't need protecting. I don't care about it being a burden," Harry answered stubbornly. "As you said, Ginny's my girlfriend. I have the right to know what happened."

Silence ensued as the two of them stared at one another across the table. Healer Lewis studied Harry's face for a while before nodding and pocketing the greyish vial. Well, he'd never expected to need it anyway.

"Very well. I know I'm going to regret this," he finally spoke with a sigh. "It's going to come back and haunt me in my dreams that I've allowed you to see this ..."

_Beautiful, wonderful dreams._

"It's not your fault, Healer Lewis. _**I**_ was the one who requested to see her memories," Harry rebutted.

"But still ..." he trailed off, rising from his chair with clumsy moves fit for his current physique.

He went over to the wooden box, took out a single glass vial, and poured its content into the Pensieve. He turned around and stared at Harry.

"I'm warning you: what you see might come as a shock."

_Count on it._

Giving Healer Lewis a firm nod, Harry quickly moved towards the Pensieve and halted in his steps. Heaving a sigh, he dipped his nose into the silvery-white substance and plunged in. A few moments later, Harry was quickly followed by the expectant Healer, whose gleeful joy became briefly visible by blue eyes turning red for a flash.

The nightmarish illusion created by Lord Voldemort was in full swing when "Healer Lewis" arrived.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: **don't own, no money ... ladi, ladi, ladi.

**A/N: **we'd like to thank everyone who read, rated, fav-ed, alerted, and reviewed our story: seriana14, WeBuildThenWeBreak, Vinwin, Hiskerian, Behind Brown Eyes, crazikido2, EasilyAmusedReader, MidnightThief15, BlueSkyHeaven, RiverRamsden, sesshomari, Summer Leah, Merih, PersephoneTricked, sweet-tang-honney.

Behind Brown Eyes: Thanks for the compliment! Good luck with the guessing, since the both of us don't know when inspiration strikes and then we get the strangest ideas that work with the story. LOL. Well, in our opinion, any name attached to Tom automatically becomes sexy. Yes, even Snakeface. ;) Hope you enjoy this chapter, too!

crazikido2: Thank you. Yes, it's scary. We're scared sometimes too with the "delightful" things we can come up with to torment the characters. And we're glad you found it real enough to imagine. XD

* * *

**The Gold Puppet **

**Chapter 16**

To his surprise, Harry Potter landed right in the familiar setting of Dumbledore's Head's Office. Only it was Severus Snape who stood behind the desk, a blank expression on his face while his dark eyes stared straight at him. Harry frowned. He'd never been seen while visiting a memory in a Pensieve before, but when a redhead was pushed past him, he realised Snape had been staring at Ginny instead. Harry turned to Ginny, who dislodged the grip on her arm forcefully with a yank and glared at Snape with fury all over her freckled face.

"Here she is, Headmaster, as you requested," Filch said gleefully. "She was hiding in Madam Pomfrey's cabinet."

While Filch explained exactly where he had found Ginny Weasley and how she had evaded the Carrows with a jinx his cat had seen through, Harry was sure that Snape's eyes stared murderously at the man for a second.

Filch continued rambling, "Should I bring out the—"

"Leave us," a cold, high-pitched voice spoke behind him.

Shocked, Harry swirled around. Overlooking the grounds of Hogwarts, _**he**_ stood in front of the window, his back turned to the room. Harry'd been so focused on Snape and Ginny, he hadn't even noticed his archenemy was in the Head's Office, too. Worried, his head swivelled back and forth between the now extremely pale-looking Ginny Weasley and Lord Voldemort.

_What?_

"I warned you it would be bad," Healer Lewis's voice sounded behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "Remember you can leave whenever you need to, Harry. Don't try to take too much of it in all at once if you feel you can't take it anymore."

He turned to Lewis. "She never said anything."

"She buried it away deeply," Lewis replied, nodding to the scene. "You'll understand why soon."

Concerned, Harry looked back at Ginny, so he missed the genuine expression of malicious satisfaction Healer Lewis exhibited. Everyone in the room seemed to just stand frozen still, while Filch scattered away in the distance. Hopefully, Harry glanced in Snape's direction. Surely, he wouldn't let anything bad happen to Ginny? He'd been on their side. He'd help her, wouldn't he?

But he noticed the tension in his old teacher's posture and realised it wasn't going to happen when Voldemort spoke again, "I won't be needing you for this, Severus."

"My Lord," Snape objected, and his fists clenched briefly.

The Dark Lord's eerie chuckle filled the room. "A bit eager are we? Well, you and Lucius will just have to work that out amongst yourselves. My appointment with Miss Weasley takes precedence."

The dismissal was obvious in the tone and Snape stalked out of the office. For a second, Harry saw his hand hover in the direction of Ginny Weasley, but then, his eyes glanced back in the direction where Dumbledore's portrait should've been, which was covered by a thick black cloth. Harry now knew the Sword of Gryffindor had been hidden behind it, and he noted, it was the reason Snape walked on.

So, this had happened before Snape'd handed them the sword and it was why he hadn't got Ginny out of there. A small twinge of guilt began to form in his chest. And he looked around the room to find some indication when this had happened. It's when he noticed all the paintings of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses were obscured by a similar-looking cloth. He couldn't even hear them snore.

"Hello, Ginevra," Lord Voldemort drawled when the door clicked to behind Severus Snape. He turned around slowly and faced her with those red, slit-pupil eyes. "It's been a while."

Harry couldn't help himself. His immediate reaction was to step between them even if he knew it was stupid and this wasn't happening now. She'd walk right through him if she moved forward, and nothing he could do could change what already had happened. But it was instinct—an instinct that caused the Healer an incredible amount of joy, though outwardly he merely coughed softly and gave Harry a concerned glance.

"Should we stop?" Tom enquired, already knowing the answer would be no, of course. Curiosity really was a killer and not just of cats.

Harry shook his head furiously. "No," he said, waving his hand through the air apologetically. "I wasn't thinking," he looked around, puzzled. "Do these memories freeze?"

"Yes," Healer Lewis explained, "it was the invention of Healer Christeson. She realised that it could be beneficial to patients if the memories could be frozen when they talked to their Healers or when the Healer in question felt it was enough for one session."

"So, if I talk to you, this just stops," Harry replied understandingly. "I can see how that could be convenient."

"It really is," Tom replied matter-of-factly, while Harry stepped aside and remained quiet, watching the rest of the horror show.

It was horrible to him to see that his girlfriend had turned a sickly white shade, which could give the wizard standing across from her a run for his money. Her forehead showed a few drops of perspiration. And she just stood there like a statue, rigid. Her eyes widened and her pupils dilated. Her lips were pressed in a horizontal line, while her brow drew together. Her shallow breathing had quickened to an unnaturally fast pace to supply the demands her body was now screaming for. It was obvious she was frightened out of her wit.

"I understood from Lucius you had an ... _interesting_ experience during your first year at Hogwarts, Ginevra," Lord Voldemort said in that same prolonged and lingering voice, while he glided towards her still figure.

A small tremble travelled through her body when he raised his hand and caught her chin, lifting it so she had to meet his eyes. "Let us see how ... _interesting_, shall we?"

A simple sideways flick of his wand and the Legilimency spell crashed into her with such force it made her sway on her feet. For a long time, they stood there, silently. Sweat leaked in small streams down her face, while her body trembled all over. Her breaths became audible rasps and the panic that ran visibly through her was a painful sight to see for Harry. He knew perfectly well what it felt like to be on the receiving end of Legilimency and that had been Snape, not Voldemort.

Finally, the Dark Lord undid the spell and Ginny crumbled to the ground, falling on her hands and knees, shaking like a leaf.

"Well, well, well," Voldemort mocked while circling around her, "how did you manage after I was gone? Have you ever showed your distress to your ... _'saviour'_? Or did you hide your true feelings about me from everyone?"

His pleased laugh made Harry wish he could do that last battle all over again and use another spell instead of Expelliarmus—one that caused a bit more pain since it was obvious Ginny was now crying.

"Oh dear, oh dear, how would your boyfriend feel if he knew you fancied his mortal enemy?"

Ginny froze.

Lord Voldemort clicked with his tongue. "Don't tell me you two actually thought that would remain a secret?" His hand gestured around the room. "In this castle?" He snorted and squatted down till he was at eye level with her. His hand snapped out and grabbed her face, fingers digging deep around her jaw. "Where is Harry Potter?"

"I don't know," she responded truthfully.

He gazed at her for awhile, before the next question barked out, "When did you last see Potter?"

She lowered her eyes and stayed silent. In response, his fingers tightened their hold and his nails broke her skin. Ginny shook her head, trying to dislodge his grip, but with a flash of his wand, she was held utterly immobile. Smutches of red were now visible around his fingers. Blood, Harry realised, horrified. Ginny's blood.

"I asked you a question, Weasley," Voldemort spoke barely above a whisper. "When did you last see Potter?"

"At—at the we-wedding," Ginny stuttered.

He gazed at her, weighing her response, before, "What was his out?"

"What?" she responded, not understanding.

He sighed in annoyance. "Don't tell me your precious Order of the Phoenix didn't have a prearranged escape plan for _Barney _in case things went sour, which is exactly what happened," he smirked and tilted his head, but after a while, he shook his head when he obviously had seen they hadn't had any. "My, my, you lot really can't lift a finger without Albus Dumbledore, can you?" he snorted. "Did Potter leave with anyone in particular?"

Abruptly, Ginny closed her eyes.

"Oh no, Ginny, don't," Harry muttered, clenching his fists. "Don't try to fight him."

For a split-second, his softly uttered words made the scene freeze, but then, a triumphant smirk appeared on Voldemort's thin lips.

"So, he did," he deduced quietly and added in a most condescending tone, "And you, an insignificant child with mediocre powers, think you can stop me from finding out."

His mocking laugh filled the office again, and Harry really, really felt like bashing his bald head in; especially when that head leaned forward and whispered into Ginny's ear, "Though, you are ..." his wand trailed from her face down to her neck, "clearly," it tracked the form of her breast, "no longer that little ..." it went down to the cord of her robe, "tiny," the knot unwrapped, "eleven-year-old," her robe blew off, "anymore," he ended, placing his wand at the closed top button of her pyjamas, watching straight into her terrified opened eyes. "Have you fucked Potter yet?"

Ginny swallowed.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, still a prude. How disappointing for Harry and how ... _fortunate_ for me." He snapped open the top button of her pyjamas and let the threat linger gently in the air before barking, "Who left the wedding with Harry Potter?"

"R-Ron and Her-Hermione," she stuttered, tears flowing down her cheeks.

He narrowed his eyes at her and seemed to get the rest of the information from her mind, because he continued, "Has anyone been in contact with them?"

Ginny shrugged, not knowing her father had sent Harry an owl.

Suddenly, he tossed her to the floor harshly and rose, his robes flaying around his tall, skeletal frame when he swirled away. Apparently, he'd undone the immobilising spell, because Ginny's body was shaking terribly now, and she pushed herself back in a seated position, having a hard time redoing the button with trembling hands.

Lord Voldemort halted a few feet away from her; his predatory red gaze looked down contemplatively at the youngest Weasley spawn, while he tapped his wand in his hand before pressing the tip of it against the mark on his lower arm.

"Since Potter wisely doesn't trust you,"—Ginny's head flew up in anger—, "where do you think they may be going?"

A couple of ideas flashed through her mind before she could stop them and look down.

"Too obvious," he replied coldly. "You're not the brains of the family, are you?" he snorted as he circled her. "But I suppose it doesn't matter where Potter is now. Once he sees your bruised and battered body in my arms on the frontpage of the Daily Prophet, he'll come running to the rescue, wouldn't you agree, Ginevra?" he hissed maliciously in her ear from behind.

"N-no."

"No to my negative statement, meaning you agree, or did your feeble mind misunderstand me correctly and is under the silly assumption that Harry Potter won't show?" he taunted, pulling her head back by her hair, so she had to face him.

"He won't come. He'll know it's a trap."

"He won't care it's a trap. He will come and surrender his wand to me, just to ensure the safety of his precious sweetheart.

"His friends will stop him."

"Your brother, really?" he taunted, his forehead crinkling from the raised lift of the absent eyebrow. "Well, _**I**_ know family isn't everything, but I sincerely doubt that knowledge has reached his limited brain capacity."

There was a knock on the door, and he called out, "Enter."

To Harry's utter revulsion, three of Voldemort's most hideous male followers came into the office. He recognised their faces from the ministerial flyers and posters they were on, since to this day, they still hadn't been caught by the Aurors. Some thought they'd fled the country upon Lord Voldemort's death, because they weren't exactly the brightest in the bunch to say it mildly, and no one believed they could keep evading all those who looked for them all by themselves. Their continued freedom was cause for much outrage in the Wizarding Community since they were notorious sexual predators and had raped many people, male and female, adult and child, during that year Voldemort'd had the country under his control.

Harry's heart nearly stopped beating when he saw the way those three gazed greedily at Ginny, like she was a snack they would enjoy devouring whole.

"Hermione will stop them," Ginny retorted desperately, not able to see what had entered the room yet.

"Reaching for straws now, _Ginevra_?" Voldemort drawled again in a clear reminiscence of Tom.

But something flashed through Ginny's eyes, a solution.

"Hermione is the smartest witch of her age," she spoke with clear satisfaction about being able to say that about someone whose blood she knew he despised. "She'll remind them you won't stop just because they are here. I know you, _Riddle_," she hissed his name back venomously. "And so do they. You'll do worse to me once they are here and you'll make them watch for your sick pleasure. Hermione will remind them that they won't do me any favours by showing up," she repeated triumphantly.

"Nice try," he replied sibilantly. "But what you should have realised is that the bigger issue is getting the message of your capture and torture delivered to Potter. I've put a powerful Identifying Trace on every Prophet in the country. But he's not very interested in the news it seems, for he hasn't touched a single paper. He also hasn't replied to your father's owl or sent any other messages to any of his old acquaintances. Makes you wonder if he even cares about the fate of others, doesn't it?" he mused, while fondling her breast, causing her to squirm uncomfortably in his hold.

The bulky, unshaven Arcadicus Rencher chuckled, while Vertumnus Jourdain rubbed over his crotch in anticipation. Ginny contorted her neck to try to see who was there, but was unable to get a clear visual. She squinted.

"Gentlemen, do gather around," Voldemort said cheerfully as if he was inviting them to a round of kindergarten show and tell. He squeezed Ginny's breast harshly, causing her to whimper, as he gestured with his head to them to come closer. "It's impolite to skulk in the shadows while in the presence of such delicious female company."

His cold laugh was met with the lust-filled chuckles of his followers. And Harry turned even paler than Ginny when he saw them move around her. One of them had already unzipped his pants and had his hand around his cock, jerking hard at himself.

"Shall I introduce you, Ginevra Molly Weasley?" Voldemort whispered in her ear. "Shall I explain to them what a pure, innocent, untouched, virginal cunt you have?"

The bearded fellow groaned upon hearing that. And Ginny closed her eyes, trying not to see what was there in front of her.

Voldemort yanked on her hair. "Be polite, Ginevra. As we have discussed in the past, you will answer me when I ask you questions."

"Please," Ginny begged, looking up at him in despair. "Please."

"Do you want _**me**_ to be your saviour now?" Voldemort asked, amused. "Lost faith in Potter already?" He glanced back at the entrance mockingly, pretending to wait for a white knight in shining armour to come bursting through, before he continued with poisonous glee, "I can't really blame you, seeing Harry was able to leave you behind so easily, knowing full well how vulnerable and accessible to Lord Voldemort you would be. Tell me, _Ginevra_, doesn't that make you wonder if he ever did truly _love _you or if you were just some convenient girl to pass the time with?"

Harry cringed when he noticed doubt flashed in Ginny's eyes upon Voldemort's statement. It pained him to see how her tears streamed continuously now and how her brief fiery spirit had dampened to non-existence.

_He lies and manipulates for a living, Ginny. Don't believe him. Please don't believe him. I love you. I thought you'd be safe if we stayed apart. I am so sorry. I should never have left you alone. I love you, don't doubt that, Ginny, I always will, no matter what, _Harry's thoughts whirled through his mind as his emotions stirred into overdrive upon realising what he would be unable to prevent from happening, because it was already too late_. _It had already occurred.

"Let's find out, shall we, Ginevra, just how convenient you are to pass the time with," Voldemort hissed in her ear, and with a snap of his fingers, her pyjamas fell to shreds on the floor around her, right before he threw her straight into the arms of the three men waiting eagerly to rape her.

"Make sure she keeps breathing," he ordered coldly through Ginny's hair-raising scream of desperation. "I need her alive but in shambles in case we do gain the ability to contact Potter."

_Son of a bitch, _Harry thought, his temper flying through the roof when he saw his girlfriend being violently taken by three of the most disgusting male individuals he'd ever seen.

He hadn't even noticed he'd drawn his wand and was about to cast at a memory when he was suddenly back in the Healer's office at St. Mungo's. He swirled to the Healer and raised his wand, fury blinding every bit of his capabilities to reason sensibly. Healer Lewis ducked just in time when Harry's curse soared over his head.

"Mr. Potter," Tom squeaked fearfully in protest behind his desk where he hardly could contain his laughter, especially when another curse shredded the documents on his desk, proving how very little self-control Potter had at the moment and how beautifully perfect his revenge was.

Tom had to admit the Horcrux's idea of creating a false memory had been extremely effective and wonderfully entertaining. At first, he had dismissed her option, knowing she only suggested it to safeguard her other friend's mental state. But after he'd given it some thought, he had to admit the ingenuity of her plan. It was deliciously wicked and he decided to go for it, because, despite that it wouldn't harm Ginny Weasley any further, it would cause Potter serious pain.

So much pain that he might be able to use it at some point to drive a wedge between Hermione and the obnoxious boy, because he still had no idea how to go about that seemingly impossible feat. Granger and Potter had always been joined at the hip and neither of them were such dolts as the Weasleys. The fact that Hermione had suggested something to him that would hurt Potter was already a step in the right direction. Tom knew he couldn't afford to let that opportunity slip and not use her suggestion. But he had no plans whatsoever to let Granger win and leave the little redhead alone from now on.

He smirked. Granger would be really upset when she realised the additional plan he had devised for Ginny Weasley and it was all based on her suggestion.

Another blast from Potter's wand drew him out of his introspection behind his desk and he realised it wasn't exactly safe to remain there. However, he couldn't risk duelling Potter, considering no matter what wand he used, it seemed to have strange adverse effects. Besides, Potter had seen him cast too many times. Whatever he did, he couldn't act as himself.

So, he let out an exaggerated frightened yelp and scattered on his hand and knees away from the desk to hide beside the cabinet next to the wall, as if he was worried Potter would blow up the desk and him next. His blue eyes wide, he held up his stubby fingers in a gesture of surrender, shaking with contained laughter that would undoubtedly be perceived as fear.

Harry blinked, realisation of what he had just done sinking in, while his wand still produced little furious sparks. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind from the images he'd just witnessed.

"I think that's enough for today," Lewis said, his voice slightly elevated, as if he wasn't quite over the shock of being under attack.

"No," Harry snapped, turning to the Healer, who cringed together, halting his attempts to get to his feet. "I have to see it all. Everything he did to Ginny."

"Mr. Potter, you've already tried to blow up my office and me over this first memory," Lewis reprimanded in his Healer's voice, rising slowly out of his kneeling position on the floor. "It will not do you or Ginny Weasley any good if you fall apart on her. She needs your support now more than ever."

Harry opened his mouth to object, but the Healer held up his hand sternly, reminding him terribly of Minerva McGonagall and how she made the same gesture whenever Ron and he were caught at doing something inappropriate and tried to schmooze their way out of it.

"We will continue this at our next appointment," Tom said, knowing that the more time passed, the worse the experience would be for Potter. The wait would surely cause any attempts to sleep well to be in vain.

Besides, he needed it to end now, because the hour was almost over and his Polyjuice Potion would stop working. He walked to Harry, placing his hands on both the insipid boy's shoulders, and said comforting, "I've been doing this for many years now, Harry. If you don't take the time to get some distance and process what you have seen before you try to see the rest, it will traumatise you so badly, you might not recover." He squeezed the boy's shoulders. "I already have one patient in here over this; don't make me have to worry about you, too."

Harry clenched his jaw briefly and gritted his teeth.

"I am sorry," he finally said, breathing in deeply to calm himself. "I didn't mean to attack you. I was—"

"Upset over what you witnessed," Healer Lewis interrupted understandingly. "Anyone with a heart would be. I felt like wringing someone's neck when I first saw the memory, and I haven't even known her before. The things some people are capable of doing to another are just so—so ... revolting, it sickens me."

Harry nodded silently, frowning.

"Do you know when this happened to her?" he asked Healer Lewis, praying it had been just before she'd gone to the Burrow on vacation in March to never return, but knowing he wouldn't be that lucky considering the questions Voldemort had asked Ginny.

"September fourth, in her first week back at Hogwarts," Lewis replied with a professional distance in his voice.

Harry gulped. "But then ..." he couldn't voice it.

"Since her mind has blocked most memories of the abuse, I've only been able to extract a few incidents so far," Lewis said, pointing to the remaining four flasks containing the silvery memories. "But from my experience with trauma victims and from what I can put together due to those five memories, it is my professional belief that she's been raped and otherwise abused in a systematic, continuous manner over a long period, probably the entire time she was at Hogwarts."

Harry cringed and his shoulders dropped. "Why hasn't she ...?"

"Cracked sooner, told her parents, tried to get help from others at the school?" Healer Lewis filled in, shrugging slightly. "There can be many reasons: guilt, shame, fear, all kinds of ideas on 'What if I had done this or that differently?', concern over not being believed, rejected, or endangering others. But most of all, it wasn't safe yet. Even when she went into hiding with her parents, in her mind, they could get caught by him or his followers again, and it would start all over. The moment he died, the moment it was real to her that it was finally over for good, a small part of her mind allowed her to go back to some of what had been done to her and that led to her breaking down in the worst manner possible."

"So, it never was due to the journal Horcrux," Harry said thoughtfully.

"I never said that," Lewis corrected quickly. "She's not seeing Tom Riddle everywhere around her because she was raped by his followers, Harry. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named used her past experiences with him against her at another moment. Something he could never have done had she had sufficient treatment immediately after her first year," he paused, shaking his head over so much stupidity. "But I am getting ahead of myself. We'll discuss this at our next meeting. I have to attend to my patient now."

"Of course," Harry agreed fast for Ginny's sake; though he had so many more questions, he'd wanted to get them all answered now. "When shall we meet again?"

"Nurse Lorraine knows my schedule. You can make an appointment with her," Lewis said gently, guiding him out the door.

When the door closed behind him, Harry stood lost in the corridor, while Healer Lewis leaned against the hard wood, uncorking a flask and drinking it quickly. His already dark eyes turned blue again and he sighed, smiling broadly about such a well-spend hour. He'd even have a little time to spare to check on Ginny and inform the cup how helpful her suggestion had been, before returning to Hermione in Australia as Seth. His broad smile turned wicked and his eyes danced with merriment, looking forward to seeing what surprise his little Mudblood would have in store for him now.

xXx

The cup heaved a sigh. Riddle had been "kind" enough to show her everything her suggestion had done to Harry before he left to go to Australia. She'd known Harry would be devastated when she'd come up with this plan, but she knew he would prefer to be the one to suffer over Ginny. And it wasn't like Riddle would leave him alone anyway. This way she could at least protect one of them.

Besides, she needed something good to make Riddle change his mind about completely destroying Ginny's mental state. To be able to target Harry Potter directly ... Hermione knew it would be irresistible to him.

And he had gone for it.

Now, she had to lure Riddle into the rest of her plan—one slow step at the time. It was Ginny's only shot of ever regaining her sanity. And she knew Harry well enough. Harry wouldn't break over this. He was strong. He always had been.

Her plan involved a lot of interaction between Lewis and Harry. Harry'd seen Lord Voldemort a lot—even from inside _his_ mind. He knew his gestures and moves, his sentence structure, his intonation, the way he acted, _everything_. Riddle was bound to slip up eventually; she just needed to get them to meet more, especially since she obviously couldn't count on herself to do anything.

Merlin, how did she miss it? She'd been in touch with her conscious mind, feeling everything her other self felt, praying for her stupid counterpart to finally notice who was in front of her, and all this time, her other self had subconsciously known and _not cared_.

She had wanted to jump into the dishwasher on her own volition upon seeing the memory Riddle had shared with her of her counterpart screaming out his name in ecstasy.

How was this possible? Why on earth would her mind suppress such dangerous knowledge? Why, why, why was she allowing this monster, this-this devilishly handsome, intelligent, charming, powerful ...

The cup groaned.

Was this her fault? Could this be happening because she inhabited Miss I-Trumpet-Loyalty-As-Most-Important-Value's cup?

It had to be. She couldn't possibly fall for Tom Riddle on her own account, could she? No siree, she wouldn't. She wasn't _that_ stupid.

Besides, he would never be interested in her anyway. She was a Mudblood after all and a Gryffindor and ... what the hell was she thinking now? Who cared if _he _was interested or not? She surely didn't. Because _she_ wasn't interested. No, not one single bit. She had to keep her mind focused on her endgame: Harry!

Harry would defeat Lord Voldemort and she was going to help him achieve it, _again._

No matter what.

No matter how.

No matter if ... it would destroy her, too.

And when it all ended and Harry would just _remain_ victorious for a change, she was going to have a meaningful chat with her real self about _**what**_ kind of man she should be fancying—no more Ron Weasleys and certainly no Tom Riddles.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: **Still don't believe us? *sighs* Well, we are not Rowling and we therefore don't own anything Potter-related, including *heavy sigh* the _money. _No, we get nothing from posting this online, well ... hopefully some reviews *bats eyelashes* but no monetary gains.

**A/N: **we want to thank everyone for reading, rating, fav-ing, alerting and reviewing. No, we are not review junkies ... *stop kidding themselves* ... we are addicts, we have a problem. See we took a first step, now lets take several steps back and help supply us, you review-dealers, thank you: cosettex, Hiskerian, patie, seriana14, tanzainy, Vinwin, RiverRamsden, MidnightThief15, carriemarie, sweet-tang-honney, Summer Leah, sesshomari, PersephoneTricked, WeBuildThenWeBreak.

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**The Gold Puppet**

**Chapter 17**

"They need to be taken somewhere more familiar to their real memories," Tom said softly in her ear, sitting sideways on the back of the couch she sat on, while rubbing with his hands over her upper arms in a gesture of comfort.

Hermione held her distraught mother in her arms, who had started to cling to her and wouldn't let go since Hermione was the only thing in Monica's swirling memory, that she trusted and recalled fully. Her father, on the other hand, was fast asleep on the nearby sofa, because "Seth" had spiked his drink with a highly concentrated Calming Draught when Hermione looked away for a second.

Really, one hysterical Muggle was more than enough in his book.

"It will assist the reversal process if they are in their old environment ... _if_ you insist on keeping them awake," he added, whispering.

She tilted her head and looked back up at him. "How much longer?" she asked, concerned. "This is torture to them."

A torture that could have been fun if he'd had the chance to revel in the stupid Muggles' pain, but alas, he had to be ... _understanding_, and ... _helpful,_ and ... _kind, _and ... well, Seth MacDougal.

He squeezed her shoulders and gave her a sympathetic expression. "The time it takes the potion to reverse the process completely depends on several factors."

"Stop beating around the bush and just tell me like it is."

Tom's face turned expressionless. Just when she was about to scream at him, he raised his hand, causing her mouth the snap shut. Swiftly, he rose, walked around the couch, untangled her from her mother, and pulled Hermione with him, away from the scene.

"Hermione?" Monica whispered, grabbing her arm frightened.

"I'll be right back, Mum," she said soothingly, patting her hand. "I need to talk to Seth for a moment."

"Don't leave me again," Monica added panicky, tightening her grip.

A flash of red struck her in the chest and Monica Granger slumped down on the couch, unconscious. Hermione swirled around to Tom furiously.

"Don't you curse my mother," she hissed.

"I wouldn't have to if you stopped being so damn daft in thinking you can do this all alone," he hissed back, grabbing both her arms abruptly and shaking her. "The time it takes for them to regain their full memory depends on the amount of memory loss, the importance of the memory (both emotionally and intellectually), and the power of the caster of the charm. In your case, all three variables have taken the most ..." he quieted, watching her seriously. "You're a powerful witch, Hermione. Their recovery will take time and it will be hard on them during the periods when memories mix and they can't distinguish between reality and the illusion you painted in their minds. I really do not recommend keeping them awake for it all. They will need constant supervision and ..."

"But I need to leave for Hogwarts in three days' time! I ... I ..." Hermione exclaimed, clenching her hands into fists out of frustration.

"I know that, Hermione, which was why I suggested not letting them stay awake during the process," he replied calmly.

"I _can't_. You've said yourself that there's a chance that they'll never wake up if I choose to let them take the Draught of Living Death first—" she took a deep breath and shut her eyes firmly, struggling with herself and her decision.

"There's only a five percent chance of that happening," Tom objected.

"But there still is that chance," Hermione growled, opening her eyes again and glaring at him as if he was being difficult on purpose. "Would you've taken that risk if they'd been your parents?" she asked harshly. "No, so neither will I. I'll just have to talk to McGonagall and ... and ..."

"No," he snapped. "You will go to Hogwarts and finish your education as your parents would want you to." He paused for a second, his face still expressionless as he presumably thought of the different options they had. "What if we take them back to England with us, and instead of the draught, I'll use a Sleeping Charm on them at precise intervals?" Tom suggested helpfully.

She blinked and stared at him.

"Well?" he asked impatiently when she remained silent.

"But-but you'd have to repeat it every three hours," she said, stunned. "That's eight times a day."

Four, actually, if you used the modified charm, which doubled the duration of the effect. But it was very beneficial to his goals if she was under the impression she owed him even more. And to be fair, she would owe him big time ... he _was_ babysitting _Muggles_ for her. Ugh. So, he didn't correct her assumption, but merely shrugged instead.

Hermione shook her head. "No, these are my parents. I—I can't ask that of you."

"You're not asking, I am offering," he interrupted, because he could tell she was going to add more objections to her list.

"I know," she said, sending him a broad, grateful smile, "but it's too much. I've only known you..."

She quieted when he cupped her face gently.

"...for such a short time," he finished, grinning. "It feels so much longer, doesn't it?"

He wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her close.

"Like we are ... _soul-mates_," he sniggered internally at his pun, but outward he showed nothing of the kind. He merely gazed at her intensely, playing with a lock of her hair, while he continued in a low, seductive voice, "like we are meant to be together. I don't mind doing this for you, Hermione. I really don't. It's not that much to ask. I know how to perform the modified Sleeping Charm, so it's four times a day not eight. And we can get help. I can afford it."

He smirked when she bristled at that. It was obvious to him from the luxurious house the Wilkins inhabited that she wouldn't need any financial support from him; but it was so much fun to rub her feathers the wrong way, he just couldn't resist it.

"I'll be paying for any help tha—"

He silenced her by placing his finger on her lips and chuckled. "I won't need any help. I have a perfectly fine guestroom in my flat. They—"

"But—" she tried.

"No buts," he interrupted her quickly. "They are most welcome, Hermione. I don't have any family left that needs to stay over ..." he trailed off, an appropriate saddened expression washed over his features, before he shook himself as if clearing the dreadful thoughts away, and continuing, "I've a double bed there and if we keep them asleep, this solution will be the most convenient one for all involved."

Her face still showed hints of doubt, but he was getting there, he could tell. Just one little nudge, it was all she needed.

"We can create a Portkey to my flat, so you can visit them," _me_, "whenever you need," _whenever I allow it. _"I am sure Professor McGonagall," _who would get exactly what she deserved some day, _"won't mind creating you a Portkey back to Hogwarts if you explain the circumstances to her."

Of course he wouldn't need Minnie to make a Portkey to Hogwarts for him, but that was not information he could share with Hermione yet.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked, still uncertain.

"Yes," he replied firmly, placing his hands in his pockets to prevent himself from hexing or throttling her.

She sighed and finally nodded.

He studied her face for a few minutes before he said, "We would need to take them there by plane. They're not in the right conditions for Apparition."

She nodded again in agreement.

"I'll contact a travel agency—" Hermione began to say.

"There's no need for that," he interrupted. She stared at him. "I have an ... _acquaintance _working as a travel agent. He could arrange tickets for us."

What she didn't need to know, of course, was the fact that the "acquaintance" was actually a Death Eater. No, Muggles were like a bunch of ants, and enough of them could be enough to tackle a wizard with a wand—especially when some of his Death Eaters weren't exactly the smartest cookies in the world or the best duellers. No, he knew that he must have some of his Death Eaters pretending to be normal Muggles until the day came when he could take over the Muggle world.

"Oh," Hermione answered, not knowing how to respond to that. "Then, perhaps I should give you the money—"

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione," he reprimanded.

The thought of his Death Eater attempting to get money from him, their master, for airplane tickets did thoroughly amuse him though.

"But that's ... that's ridiculous. I can't just ..." Hermione stuttered, her face red from irritation.

"Hermione," Tom stopped her in her upcoming rant. "Let's just say that it's an early Christmas present if you're so concerned about 'taking something' from me."

Her eyebrows were still furrowed, very much annoyed with the situation.

"And then," he pulled her body close to his and ran his hands suggestively over the side of her body, "you can give me an early Christmas present, too."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise before her expression turned to amusement.

"Oh, you really are incorrigible," she chided. And then she doubled up in laughter.

xXx

The morning, when Hermione had to go to Hogwarts, arrived far too quickly in Tom's eyes. He'd got used to having her in his bed next to him, enjoying the feel of her body against his. First, in "his friend's house" in Australia and later in his flat, though, that had taken some doing with the cup. Just to be on the safe side, he had taken it to a secure location elsewhere and made sure to keep the Horcrux mentally connected to him, so he would know the instant it would try to reach out to her real life self.

However, the cup hadn't been too much trouble lately. It hadn't taken advantage of the situation to chat him to death in his mind. No, it was actually very accommodating, handing him all kinds of interesting and incredibly _enjoyable_ suggestions on how to deal with Potter. He wondered why that was...

As his suspicions rose about her Horcrux's motives, he watched how Hermione held on to her mother's hand, trying his best to not roll his eyes or sigh out of relief. Honestly, he wondered if it had something to do with having been in Australia, or simply because she had been in the Muggle community for far too long. Hermione had been absolutely impossible with her parents' situation back there. She was very, very lucky that he was pretending to be Seth MacDougal at that moment or he would've shown her who was the one in charge of the situation.

And to ask him if he would've taken the risk had they been his parents. He nearly snorted right then and there. Then again, she had been right. He wouldn't have taken the risk, **because** eternal sleep would've been an easy way out for his _**dearest**_ father. Thinking in retrospect, perhaps he should've held off on the Killing Curse when he arrived at the Riddle's place, and spent some time torturing his father and his grandparents—the nerve of those stupid Muggles for giving birth to his filthy, Muggle father. That would've been satisfying. But he would've had to risk the chance of getting seen by other Muggles, and that was certainly something he could not allow to have happened back then.

Looking at the way Hermione was adjusting the blankets and making sure both of her parents were comfortable in their sleep in _his_ guest bedroom, it was clear to Tom that he had been right—_love, s_uch an annoying, useless emotion. Although what it entailed delighted Tom thoroughly. He couldn't wait to "inform" the cup that her parents were officially in his hands after her real life self had entrusted him so kindly with her parents' safety.

Everything was working out smoothly indeed.

Hermione suddenly glanced at him and gave him a smile. An expression of understanding and caring immediately slid onto his face.

As quietly as she could, she walked out of the room with Tom trailing slightly behind her. Once the door was closed, she faced him again.

"Are you sure it's alright, taking care of my parents for me while I'm away at Hogwarts? I mean ... it is _**my**_ responsibility after all, and it doesn't feel right, putting the entire burden on you ..." she said hesitantly.

Her words made him want to hex her—or better yet, hex those two Muggles inside, because they were too much trouble for a waste of oxygen and space. Hadn't he already told her at least a dozen times already that he was going to take care of them for her? What more did she want to hear for crying out loud?

"I will contact you immediately if the need arrives," he promised, knowing the only need he'd take under consideration would be his.

Suddenly, she took a hold of his shirt and yanked him to her. Wrapping her arms around him, she hugged him to her tightly.

"You are the best thing that ever happened to me," she said gratefully.

Awkwardly, he stood there, his arms bungling at his side in midair, suddenly not knowing what to do with them, while that little witch cuddled against his chest.

"Really, no one else has ever cared about my parents' fate before," she said, looking up fondly. "They always took it for granted that I would be there for them instead of going to see my family. And you—you just ..." She seemed lost for words.

It was such an uncommon and endearing event that he smiled down at her. Tom wrapped his arm around her waist, and with his other hand, he stroked a stray curl out of her face in a caring gesture before enclosing her shoulders, holding her possessively to him. No one would touch or destroy _**his**_ witch, ever. No harm should be done to her. She was to remain whole and powerful, his personal little Mudblood Gryffindor.

"Your parents will be fine, Hermione," he said soothingly. "You have my word on that."

It slipped out of his mouth before he realised what he had said. The moment the sentence left his lips, he wanted to take it back and his breath stuck in his throat. But it was too late. He could already feel the magic swirl through the air, accompanying his promise.

"See," she said, rising on tiptoes to kiss him on his lips, "this is exactly what I meant. You are constantly anticipating my needs. You are so sweet."

Before he was able to curse her for calling him, _Lord Voldemort_, sweet, her mouth was on his and she kissed him passionately.

Oh well, perhaps he could ignore it, just this once. Nobody had heard it anyway, and he wasn't advertising with it.

Her hands caressed his body pleasantly. And suddenly, she jumped up, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, making him stumble to hold his balance. Hermione giggled at his expression, as she leaned on his shoulders with her upper arms, resting her forehead against his.

"How will I reward you for your services?" she breathed against his mouth, nibbling on his upper lip.

His eyes darkened, and he swirled them around, pushing her up against the nearest wall. "I may have a few suggestions," he purred, rubbing his body against hers.

She snorted, nodding her head to her Hogwarts trunk near his frontdoor. "I do have a train to catch and I need to speak to Harry ... and go to St. Mungo's to thank Healer Lewis. It would be rude to just leave without saying anything."

"Such a busy schedule," he teased. "I do trust I come first in it," he added darkly, his fingers trailing over the outside of her thighs underneath her bundled up skirt.

"Ermmm..." Hermione teased back, her pupils darting up as if she had to give it some serious thought.

Tom squeezed her buttocks and she giggled in response.

"Since we can't have you be rude to ... _Healer Lewis_," he smirked, "we'd have to be quick."

"Somehow, this doesn't seem like a fair trade to you," Hermione whispered, kissing underneath his ear at that sensitive spot when she'd finished speaking.

"Life isn't fair," he grumbled, yanking her knickers away, causing her to let out a high yelp in surprise.

"Maybe ... but, I try to be," she countered, glancing down shortly at the ragged remains of her underwear. Tilting her head, she looked at him considering and ... unzipped his pants slowly. "Sure you can't think of something else you'd rather have as a reward than a quickie?"

He froze, staring into her luscious eyes. Anticipation rose when the duration of their intense eye contact lengthened—silence before the storm.

"The first Prefects carriage, three p.m. sharp, make sure it's empty and bolted," he ordered authoratively.

Her eyebrows rose. "How will you get on a moving train?" she questioned teasingly.

"Deliberation, Determination, and Destination," he replied smugly.

"Don't lose any ... _vital_ body parts underway," she jested.

Tom scowled, making her snigger.

So, he lowered her to her feet abruptly and stepped away, zipping his pants back up with a smirk, while his eyes darted to the remains of her underwear on the floor with clear devious satisfaction. Hermione sighed, shaking her head and passing him to open her Hogwarts trunk and get a clean pair. Abruptly, he yanked her back by her collar against his body and wrapped his arm around her waist.

Placing his mouth next to her ear, he whispered in a low, dark voice, "You won't be needing those today, dear."

"Now you are pushing it," Hermione countered breathlessly. "How am I supposed to reprimand twelve-year-olds when I am not wearing any knickers?"

"Why, Granger," Tom replied, amused, "were you planning on showing them your knickers?"

She scowled. "Very funny, MacDougal."

It was his turn to snigger. "I thought not," he deduced with a happy, casual, upward lilt, "so you can go without easily. I'll be seeing you at three p.m., my naughty little Head Girl." He summoned her trunk into her hands and smacked her on her behind playfully. "Off you go."

Hermione turned her head to him and smirked. "I am _so_ going to get you back for this."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he chided. "That's not a nice thing to say to someone who handed you a Portkey to his place and is taking excellent care of your parents for you."

"Maybe I am not a nice person," Hermione replied with a wink. "Try not to Splinch your underwear or anything you value more away at three p.m."

She Apparated away before he had a shot to reprimand her for her bold suggestion of him failing at anything magic-related. However, he'd get back at her this afternoon on the train. Oh, how he would get even with Hermione Granger.

xXx

Heaving a sigh, Ron left his sister's room. He had no idea if there was any point to his visits. She was just laying there, totally unresponsive. But when Molly Weasley told you to go, you went. And he wasn't exactly his mother's most favourite person at the moment, ever since she'd found out Hermione had left to go meet her Obliviated parents all alone. Everything was his fault these days: Hermione leaving, Harry being upset and silent, Ginny's side-effects, breakfast burning to crisp on the stove, Lavender stopping by every now and then and calling him Won-Won again.

It was so unfair.

A door swung open and Ron narrowed his eyes at the corpulent male that came out of the chamber, shook the hand of a patient, walked happily to the nurses' counter, and started an animated conversation there with Lorraine.

_The best Healer possible_, Ron wrinkled his nose in disgust and snorted. _Incompetent wanker. Taking George's money and snogging __my__ girlfriend, he could do expertly, but heal __my__ sister ... _

He clenched his fists briefly before pacing to the counter. He'd tell that overpriced charlatan exactly what he thought of him.

The Healer turned around just when Ron was about to tap on his shoulder. "Mr. Weasley," Lewis said with a polite smile, his eyes flickering over Ron's angry posture, "what can I help you with?"

Ron raised his eyebrows. "_**You**_ want to help _**me**_?" he replied, restrained.

"Of course," Lewis said, deliberately amiable upon noticing it made the redhead's temper rise. "It can be ... _hard_, having to deal with loss and situations beyond your control."

_Did he just suggest something about Hermione and me? _

"And I am not just here to treat the patient; her environment, her family and ... _friends_ are also very important to take under consideration."

Ron hardly heard the rest of the man's words. Oh yeah, he knew how much Lewis took Ginny's friends under "consideration". _Jerk_.

"—heal your sister," Lewis ended, sending him another irritating, understanding, phoney caring expression.

"Yes, I am sure Hermione will be very necessary for Ginny's healing process," Ron snarled.

Lewis sighed. "Mr. Weasley, we discussed this before. It's not good for your sister to see Hermione Granger until she's ready for that. We don't want her to relapse now, do we?"

"Yeah, I know all about how bad it is for Ginny to see Hermione, so really, explain this to me then—why is she here all the time?"

Lewis's face turned blank in a second. "I am afraid I can't go into details—"

"Oh just give me a general overview," Ron interrupted bluntly. "I am sure it won't be too hard to explain what you're doing with Hermione in your office every time."

"You really need to speak to Miss Granger about this, Mr. Weasley," Lewis said, shuffling uncomfortable on his feet, while sniggering on the inside. "If you have any questions on Ginny's treatment or if I can assist you in any other capacity, I will, but I can't help your enquiry about Miss Granger's ... activities."

_Why, __did__ that man __just smirk__ at __me__ mockingly__? _

Ron clenched his fist and swung it around. With a most satisfying crack, it impacted on Lewis's face. The Healer stumbled backwards, his hands covering his face, while several shocked cries came all around him, but not nearly as shocked as the one coming from a familiar voice.

"Ronald!" Hermione yelled, running to the Healer who'd falling against the counter, still clutching to his face. "Are you insane?"

Harry stood a few paces away from Hermione, staring at Ron with his jaws open.

"Do you know what you are doing? This Healer ... this _wizard_ is helping Ginny! And this is the way you repay him?" Hermione screeched, standing next to Healer Lewis with one hand on his back while she glared at Ron.

"I am fine," Healer Lewis said, waving away the help. "It's nothing."

Ron kept his eyes on Healer Lewis, as if he was trying to stab holes into him with his eyes.

"I am truly disappointed in you, Ronald," Hermione hissed, her eyes narrowed. "I can overlook ... things you've done before, but to attack someone who deserves your gratitude more than anything ... this is an outrage."

"An outrage—an _outrage_," Ron repeated furiously. "And you can overlook things, you! Am I supposed to be grateful for how he was _helping_ you?"

Hermione turned red with fury. Had he been spying on her? Really, things couldn't get any worse than they were already. Before she left for Australia, before she found him fucking that whore in an alley, he'd been a prick for weeks, totally neglecting and trampling all over her feelings and emotions, so she couldn't talk about them to him but had to go seek professional help. And now, she had to learn he'd obviously been following her around during that time. That was the icing on the cake.

She removed her hand from Lewis and stepped to Ron. "Not that it is any of your business, Ronald Weasley, because you mean very little to me at the moment," she said snidely, pricking him in the chest. "But yes, I've been seeing him to get over everything that happened last year. In case you've forgotten already, I've witnessed some pretty nasty things and not all of us had the luxury to run home to their mummies whenever we felt like it."

"Don't you dare say that to me again," Ron hissed.

"I haven't even said it once," Hermione hissed back, her eyes ablaze. "I've kept how much it hurt me when you left us alone all to myself. And I don't see why I should anymore. You have no restraint in hurting others," she looked back at Lewis, whose eye was now being healed by Harry, "not even those who try to be there for you; but here we all dance around your feeble insecurities."

"I am not weak!" Ron shouted, angry she brought it up again. "You know perfectly well it was Riddle who manipulated me into leaving. The moment I was away from that stupid locket I tried to get back to you. And don't pretend like you didn't want to leave, too. You just had nowhere to go, otherwise you'd have left Harry, too."

Hermione stepped back, a look of shock on her face, while she trembled slightly at the memory of her parents' current condition.

"You really don't know the first thing about me, do you, Ronald Bilius Weasley?" she whispered, appalled by his words and distressed about how wrong she'd been in thinking he was her friend. He obviously had no idea who she was.

"I would never have left Harry, no matter what. Even Riddle's Horcrux knew it, because he never tried that on me. He had other nice things to say to me. But I didn't let him win. I knew what he was trying to do. I knew he tried to drive a wedge between the three of us, make us doubt each other. We all knew he'd do that. It's his M.O. But instead of fighting his suggestions, you let him win. You left." She paused and tilted her head. "Coward," she added coldly.

Ron had never drawn his wand this fast before. Lewis let out a warning shout. Harry swirled around, his wand raised, "Protego!"

And Ron's curse crashed into the silvery shield surrounding Hermione before she could blink. The force of it tossed her through the air and she smashed against the wall violently. Silence fell around them. Ron froze and blinked, clutching to his wand in shock, suddenly realising what he'd just done, while Harry kept his wand raised and pointed at him, stepping between Hermione and Ron protectively.

Lewis ran to the dazed Hermione, who was groaning and clutching to the back of her head. He squatted down and pushed her head between her knees, removing her hand so he could investigate if there was any damage. His wand swirled and the crack in her skull healed instantaneously.

"Better?" his Texan drawl asked softly, breaking the prolonged silence.

Hermione nodded carefully, her hands against her forehead now. Lewis's hand slid to her neck, massaging the bones of her spine.

"Try to remain motionless for a while longer, your brain took quite a hit against that wall. Wait for the Healing Charm to have settled completely before doing something," he advised quietly, looking up and witnessing that Potter was still blocking Weasley.

_Excellent._

This went better than anything he could have planned out himself. But of course, now he had to add one more thing to the ever growing list of reasons of what he should punish flobberworms-for-brains for.

"Mr. Weasley," nurse Lorraine stiffly spoke to the redhead from behind the counter, "although you _may_ be a war hero, by no means does that mean you can commit violent acts here. If you decide to continue causing trouble, we will ask you to leave, prohibit you from entering St. Mungo's again, and alert the Ministry."

Ron narrowed his eyes and was about to say something in retaliation to the nurse when Harry stepped forward.

"Why don't you lower your wand now, Ron," Harry said softly. "Before you make things worse for yourself."

Ron stared at his still raised wand, and then at Harry's, which was aimed at him. Why? Oh Merlin, _he'd cursed __**Hermione**_. He stepped sideways to be able to see how she was doing, but Harry followed his moves and blocked his line of sight.

"I said, lower your wand," Harry repeated more forcefully now.

Ron's jaw dropped when he realised Harry was threatening _him_. "I—I," he stuttered, his ears turning red, while he pocketed his wand quickly. "I didn't mean to. Hermione, are you—?"

But Healer Lewis spoke right through his words, silencing Ron's enquiry by asking Hermione if she wanted to press charges.

"No," she whispered, sitting still on the ground and her eyes missing their usual brightness, "just get him to leave. I am done with him."

Lewis drew himself up as far as his tiny stature would take him and he stepped next to Harry. "You heard the lady, Mr. Weasley," he said, his sharp blue eyes gazing right at Ron—his wandhand itched to curse the redhead into oblivion.

Ron swallowed and avoided their eyes, tilting his head to try to get a glimpse of Hermione. "Hermi—?"

"You're very lucky she won't press charges, Mr. Weasley," Lewis interrupted coolly. "But if you don't leave now, I will. And if I find you bothering her again, I will file a full report to the Aurors of what occurred here. I've seen enough men abuse their exes simply because they can't take a hint and their precious egos are damaged. You will leave this girl alone."

"Harry?" Ron pleaded. "I didn't mean to hurt ... you _know _I..."

"Standard line of abusers," Lewis said coldly. "They are always _so sorry_ after the fact," he snarled.

Ron turned pale. "But..."

"I think you should do as the Healer says and leave now, Ron. Don't force me to have to take you in," Harry said, upset.

Harry's day had already started lousy when he, along with a team of Aurors, raided one of Lord Voldemort's old strongholds and found a couple of fugitive Death Eaters there along with a tiny black book, which was the spitting image of the diary he had once destroyed—apart from the fact that the entries in it were still visible and it obviously was just charmed to respond to the person writing in it. He'd recognised both Ginny's and Riddle's script, and after reading a few bits, his stomach had turned and his breakfast had landed beside the couch he'd sat on. The sick bastard had made her relive everything his Death Eaters had done to her by forcing her to write to "Tom" about it. And the vile things he wrote back to Ginny ... Really, his death should have been far more painful, _far more painful_, than it had been. Harry wished _again_ he could do that day all over once more.

He looked back at Ron, who hadn't budged from his position.

"Ron," Harry said warningly.

The redhead opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before words finally came out.

"I didn't do it on purpose, Harry. Please trust me. I—"

"Now's not the best time to explain things to me, Ron," Harry closed his eyes, not wanting to hear excuses. "Please leave."

Silence ensued, and Harry was about to call in other Aurors to take Ron away when he heard his friend's heavy footsteps moving further and further away from them. When he could no longer hear him, Harry opened his eyes and stared at the place where Ron had been standing.

How did this all happen? Why was his world shattering around him, even with Lord Voldemort gone? This was ... ridiculous ... _cruel_.

Heaving a sigh, he turned around and looked at his other best friend. She sat on the floor, staring coldly in the direction Ron had walked off in.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Harry asked cautiously.

She blinked before placing her attention on him. "Yes. Why wouldn't I be?" she asked hoarsely, standing up and patting away the dust that had attached itself to her skirt. She turned towards Healer Lewis. "Thank you ... for everything. I really need to get going now, since I have to catch the Hogwarts Express. I'm going back to Hogwarts to finish my education."

"Have a wonderful year, Hermione," Healer Lewis said pleasantly. "If you have any problem at all," he looked at her meaningfully before continuing, "such as dizziness and such from what just happened, please do not hesitate to ask the Headmistress to contact me."

"Thank you," Hermione smiled. She was extremely thankful that the Healer had kept to his promise and refrained from talking about her problems of hearing voices in public. The last thing she needed was for Harry to fret about her on the day she was leaving to Hogwarts. Merlin, he'd probably prevented her from going to Hogwarts altogether.

She turned around and gazed at Harry. He was still wearing a worried expression, as if he was afraid that she might break down any minute.

"I'm fine, Harry," she reassured him, reaching out and grabbing his hand. She gave him a smile, to which he returned a weak one of his own. "Trust me. He can't hurt me more than he had for the past few months."

"He's being an idiot," Harry said.

"When wasn't he being one?" she snorted and rolled her eyes. She sighed and smiled at him again. "I'm not going to let him hurt me again. There are other ... _things_ that are better worth my time." A small smile played at the corner of her lips.

"Oh, did you find your parents?" Harry asked, glad about the chance to change the subject.

"Yes," Hermione grinned. "And—oh, Harry, so many things have happened! I think ... I think they're starting to remember me."

Healer Lewis softly coughed on the side. "Hermione, you do have a train to catch."

Hermione glanced at the clock hanging on the wall and an alarmed expression appeared on her face when she realized the time.

"To make a long story short, my ... boyfriend," her eyes glittered at the thought of the Seth, "is taking care of them right now."

"Your boyfriend?" Harry's eyes widened.

She nodded swiftly. "They're staying at his flat right now." She released Harry's hand and threw her arms around him. "Oh, Harry. Please do promise to write and take care of yourself and Ginny."

"Hermione, you're just going to Hogwarts," Harry pointed out, rolling his eyes and pulling away from her.

"Yes, but ..." she trailed off.

"Don't worry. I'll be the same messy-haired, green-eyed, mediocre wizard when you come back, healthy as ever," he grinned.

"You better be, or else I'll personally hex you till the next millennium," she smiled back and pulled him back for another hug.

After say her good-byes to Healer Lewis, she then proceeded to walk as quickly and quietly as she could towards the Apparition point.

Harry turned around and faced Healer Lewis, a stony expression in place.

"How may I help you today, Mr. Potter?" Healer Lewis asked carefully.

"I need to speak with you," Harry replied. "In private, if possible."

"Healer Lewis—" Lorraine immediately spoke up.

The Healer held up his hand. "I'm sure we can spare a few minutes for Mr. Potter. Please follow me."

When they were finally in Healer Lewis's office and the door was closed, Harry pulled a black diary out of his pocket and threw it on the table, in front of the Healer.

"What the hell is this all about?"


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer:** not ours, hence no money, leads to two crying grown women.

**A/N: **we want to thank everyone who read, fav-ed, alerted, and reviewed: dude you rock, a fan, Ali-lue, TheBeastWhatSqueaks, abcdreamer, Aastha Panit, racinggal, CuriosityKilledKat, IceAgeSurvivor123, Orvon Hoolio, mikorena, Summer Leah, XcrimsonroseX, Beexfeatheryduster, BlueSkyHeaven, patie, Vinwin, WeBuildThenWeBreak, Hiskerian, seriana14, Ceralyn, sesshomari, RiverRamsden, sweet-tang-honney, PersephoneTricked, cosettex.

dude you rock: Well, here is that train bit then. giggles. We hope you'll enjoy it.

a fan: thank you.

TheBeastWhatSqueaks: Hmm... we want dreams like that. Dreams of Tom ... *contemplates enviously on that for a long, long time*.  
Oh, poor you, the fandom of Tomione is littered with SCARY fics, as in REAL scary. *shivers.* I should know, I read them all for Mary and Gary. *palm-head*

"If JK had written this story exclusively for adults, this is what would have happened. This is the closing of Harry Potter that we deserve." - Oh, we couldn't agree more. Our Lord agrees with you too. Down with the good guys! Victory is ours!  
Thanks for the compliments on the characterisation of Hermione and Tom. We do our best. And we will update soon, as in now, otherwise you wouldn't be able to read this. Spamming our accounts won't work without an account, squeaky beastie. You can't catch us! We're safe! Nah, nah, nah, nah. Ermmm... who's knocking on my frontdoor now? AAAHHHH, it's squeaky beast! Hide, Serp, hide!

"Also, as a grammar geek to rival even Miss Granger herself, I humbly offer my services as beta should you require them." - Well, anyone can see we do require one, but we're taking the liberty of annoying our readers with our errors. Our schedule is already crazy to match between the two of us. If we add a third party to the mix, our chapters will take even longer before they get updated. So thank you, but we're going to have to pass on your offer. This is a hobby after all, and we don't need to be more perfect than we already are. *winks*

We'll definitely write more. Alas, updates will be scarcer than before (Serp decided to go and work for a living and I decided to go and break my wrist), but we won't abandon this fic. EVA.

~-0-~

* * *

**The Gold Puppet**

**Chapter 18**

Healer Lewis kept his eyes on the black diary sitting on the table in front of him for a while before sighing and turning his head to the side. He'd already flipped through it, feigning sincere interest in the item he'd planted at his old hideaway. He'd killed two birds with one stone there since he recognised three of his chicken shit Death Eaters who had bailed on him during the battle at Hogwarts. It had been incredibly entertaining to leak their whereabouts to the Auror Department. No, after the disaster of losing his body for more than a decade, when most of them kept going on with their lives like nothing happened, they pretty much used up all Lord Voldemort's mercy with regards to issues of loyalty. Those who were not supposed to stay low on his orders would be dealt with accordingly.

In his kind, understanding Healer's role, he had explained to Snotter in the simplest of terms that he knew of this journal's existence from one of Ginny's memories he'd extracted, and that the fortunate "recovery" of the book would be incredibly helpful in determining her full trauma. He'd then confiscated said diary under a medical excuse, knowing that it wouldn't stand up to scrutiny should the meddlesome boy have the Unspeakable Department look at it. Besides, he'd already reached his goal with it. From Potter's reactions, it was obvious to deduce he'd read it cover to cover. The guilt was etched on the moron's face.

Delicious.

He'd definitely had to ... _compensate_ Hermione on the train for her Horcrux's assistance. Turning Potter into the villain of the story was incredibly entertaining and rewarding.

However, now the insipid boy was demanding for more information about what had happened to his equally annoying and uninteresting girlfriend. Although letting him know would undoubtedly lead to delightful consequences, he still had a date with his bushy-haired witch. He weighed the pros and cons of both options and finally made his decision.

"Mr. Potter ..."

"I _want_ to know what happened," Harry said through gritted teeth. "If I have to stay in the unknown ... if I can't at least share Ginny's pain ..."

"It's too much of a burden, Mr. Potter," Lewis said in a low voice, standing up from his chair.

He walked over to the window. From the reflection, his bright blue eyes discreetly followed every single one of Harry's moves.

"I've told you already," Harry spoke a bit louder, frustration apparent from his tone of voice and stance, "I don't _care_. I want to know everything, every single despicable thing Lord Voldemort did to Ginny."

Repressing a smirk, Lewis plastered a sympathetic expression on his face and turned around. He walked around the table and patted Harry on the shoulder.

"My dear boy, I understand how hard it is, but I suggest watching the memories some other day." He held up his hand when Harry opened his mouth, presumably to argue. "You are not in a calm state of mind. If I show you what He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had done to Ginny ... no, I will never forgive myself, and if Ginny knew, she would agree with me. I promise," he added when Harry opened his mouth again, "I will show you the memories. Just not today."

With his forehead creased into a frown, Harry seemed to be mentally struggling against himself.

_Get on with it, stupid boy. Lord Voldemort does not have all day_, Lewis thought to himself, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Alright," the Boy-Who-Needs-To-Die finally heaved. "But you have to show me the memories."

"I promise," the Healer replied with a firm nod.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. Right on schedule. Excellent.

"It appears that our time is up. Nurse Lorraine will assist you in scheduling our next meeting," he said, returning to his seat.

After exchanging a few more words with Potter, he dismissed the boy with a wave and benign smile. Only when the door closed did Lewis allow the expression of glee to appear. Chuckling softly to himself, he pulled out the top drawer of his desk and pulled out the bottle of Polyjuice Potion there.

Time to pay baby pumpkin brains a visit.

Yet, before he was able to rise from his seat, there was a knock on the door.

_Did Dumbles Junior forget something?_

"Enter," he said tiresomely, checking his watch even though he knew it was nowhere near three o'clock yet.

To his surprise, it wasn't Potter. A hint of a smile crossed his face when he recognised the two who entered. It was about time. He'd been spreading those rumours to the hospital gossipers ages ago. The rumours how his clinic in the States had had remarkable results curing mental instability from prolonged Cruciatus exposure. Experimental results, very risky. Its treatment required the constant presence of the closest family members. Naturally.

Unfortunately, he couldn't go around and whack all his enemies, no matter how badly he wanted to draw his wand and perform his favourite curse right now. It would raise suspicions if everyone passed away. At some point, someone was going to wonder why so many of the people who'd opposed Lord Voldemort's rule met with odd "accidents" and said someone might start investigating. Not that he was worried too much with the dolts he had as adversaries. So far the only one who had made him had been Granger.

He snickered internally as he recalled how she'd called out his true name during her climax.

No, Granger wouldn't be his adversary for very long. Her subconscious had already shifted sides. It was only a matter of time. Lord Voldemort would make her understand where her true loyalties should lie. Until she realised this fully, until he had re-established his forces, until this country—this _world_ was under his thumb once more, he had to move with caution and restrain himself from speaking those two lovely words that created such a delicious green aura around his victims.

Alas, caution dictated that some of his future victims had to simply "move abroad". Out of sight, out of mind. Healer Lewis leaned back in his seat and placed his chubby fingertips against one another.

"Yes?" he said, raising his eyebrows questioningly as if he didn't know their identity.

Augusta Longbottom and her grandson entered the room. How many years had it been since he had gone to school with this witch? One thing that had not changed was that haughty look on her face, staring at everyone like they were supposed to bow down at her feet and follow each and every one of her orders. She had been rather annoying back at Hogwarts, and it seemed like that had not changed at all.

She was looking at Healer Lewis with a critical eye, as if she was trying to discern if he could be trusted or not.

As if _that_ was something that could be seen with simple observation when one was not him. Well, during _this_ conversation, she was going to find him to be ... _quite_ trustworthy.

His eyes slid over to the young man standing beside the old vulture and sporting a polite smile. It appeared that the young man had learned to be a lot more confident after killing Nagini.

The thought of his Horcrux being destroyed by the stupid, insipid, pathetic, unworthy kid that was standing there was enough to cause fury to flood through his veins and nearly show on his features. But then, he recalled his plan, and the sneer that was about to appear on his face turned into an amiable smile.

"Hello," Neville spoke up. A tinge of nervousness still made it into his voice despite his calm demeanour.

"What can I do for you?" He plastered a sincere helpful expression on his face as his mind answered for Neville: _Dismemberment, poisoning, a couple of rounds of Crucios, boiling your internal organs one by one._

"Are you Healer Lewis?" Augusta Longbottom asked sharply, her eyes giving him a once over again.

He leaned forward, picked up the brass plate with his name imprinted on top of it from his desk and checked it. "Yes," he said after a brief pause. "It is I. Unless ... of course, someone is impersonating me, which would be real inconvenient I suppose," he said smiling broadly at his pun.

"Wonderful," Augusta sneered, "a comedian. Let's go, Neville. This is a waste of time."

She turned on her heels to leave.

_So predictable. _

"No," Neville said abruptly, causing Lewis's eyebrows to lift at the boy's daring. "No," he continued softer, "we came here to seek help for Mum and Dad." He turned from his grandmother back to Lewis. "I am Neville Longbottom and this is my grandmother, Mrs. Longbottom. We were hoping you could help us."

Lewis raised his eyebrow in surprise. "Your Mum and Dad?"

Neville nodded. "They ... they've been tortured ... by Bellatrix Lestrange ... one of You-Know-Who's followers, by the Cruciatus Curse."

Healer Lewis allowed an expression of realization to dawn on his face.

"Frank and Alice Longbottom, I suppose?" he asked, frowning as if he was truly trying to recall details.

"Yes," Neville replied with a nod. Augusta was still standing to the side, glancing at Lewis askew. Apparently, sense of humour still did not sit too well with her.

The Healer nodded slowly. "I've heard about them for Nurse Lorraine." He smiled warmly at the young man. "I should have guessed. You look very similar to your mother."

_And destined to the same fate? Hm ... Probably not. A much, much shorter lifespan._

A humble smile appeared on Neville's face. "I'm here ... We're here because we've heard about the experiments you are conducting and we wanted to learn about it."

Healer Lewis had initially thought that the whole "healing" procedure was easy enough to explain. However, either he was too intelligent, or the boy was overly stupid. Or maybe both. Personally, he was leaning towards the last option.

However, after spending an unnecessarily long period of time explaining the therapy to Longbottom, the boy only had an inkling about what was going on and Lewis finally understood exactly _why_ Bella and Rodolphus ended up driving Frank and Alice Longbottom insane. They were trying to ask the two former Order members _**simple**_ questions, but they just did not realize that those two imbecilic Gryffindors had brains the size of fairy dust. They had no idea what was being asked of them, let alone giving an intelligent answer.

Of course, he then had to spend a good amount of time explaining to the miserable old vulture why his method would work. It had reminded him how she used to drive him insane during their Transfiguration lessons by asking Professor Dumbledore the same question over and over again, which the old coot happily complied to. The man even made _him _assist Augusta, as if Dumbles knew he was about this close to throttle the insipid girl over her evenly silly questions and blow his cover. It had been a strain on his temper and his Mr. Perfect Act. Still, he managed to play the helpful, charming Head Boy to Augusta. She'd been extremely thankful for his assistance. It had never been a difficult job to con the woman, and she had not changed too much throughout the years.

It would have been hard for others, but he could not possibly fail in tricking these two brainless, unintelligent, worthless, idiotic, moronic, inane, harebrained waste of spaces. Not to mention the fact that he did have enough of Polyjuice Potion to last him throughout the conversation.

Naturally, potato head and his grandmother finally decided to take the trip to the United States with Frank and Alice, even though Lewis had "kindly" reminded them that there were risks.

Now, they could not accuse Lord Voldemort of not warning them ahead of time.

Lewis could not suppress the vile smirk from appearing on his face once the door of his office closed, and one look at the clock hanging on his wall only made his smile widen. He had to hurry and change.

Time for his meeting with his little lioness.

~-0-~

With a crack, Tom Apparated straight into the prefects' carriage: the incredibly, empty prefects' carriage. Confused, he looked around. Where the hell was she? He had some really creative "punishments" planned for her. His eyes fell on the envelope pinned on the door.

_Seth, _it stated in a familiar tiny scrawl.

Furrowing his brow, Tom Riddle paced to the door, yanked off the envelope and opened it.

_Darling,_

_You are late. _

His eyes flashed to his watch. It was six minutes past three o'clock. Six lousy minutes! He'd loved to see her try to explain something to Neville Longbottom and still make it to anything on time. His eyes narrowed as he read on.

_It seems you need to be taught the importance of punctuality. _

He scowled. Lord Voldemort didn't need to be punctual. People waited for his presence. Always.

Ignoring the contradiction to that statement presented by the currently very absent Hermione Granger, he continued with her letter.

_It wouldn't do for you to think you can keep me waiting__,__ and we definitely have to ensure you learn to understand the virtues of showing the proper respect to your mistress_.

Insolent little witch. His hands clutched to the parchment harshly, and he disregarded how his heart started to beat faster in excitement.

_Therefore, I believe I have to rescind my previous suggestion of granting you a reward for your services since it's sadly obvious it's too soon for you to deserve such favours_.

His breathing turned heavy and his face turned hot as his temper rose.

_Of course, I understand you felt ... __**lost**__ without my directives these past couple of days when my parents took so much of my attention. However, I will no longer neglect my duties to train and discipline you properly_.

His eyes flashed red, while he absentmindedly rubbed his perspiring face with the back of his hand.

_You have been a good little pet, but we should always strive for perfection._

He closed his eyes, trying to calm down and count to ten, but his heart pounded furiously in his chest, flushing the adrenaline through his veins rapidly.

_So, I decided to commandeer two carriages. And maybe__—__just maybe ... if you're a very good, obedient boy and please me enough, the door between the two will open and I will "teach" you in person_.

A smirk erupted on Tom's reddened face. She was in the next carriage. Big mistake, Granger.

His wrist flicked, but nothing happened. Stunned, he jerked up his sleeve. His holster was there, yet his wand was conspicuously absent.

To his surprise, the letter suddenly turned hot in his hand, and he looked at it. Red letters appeared, forming new words and sentences as if they were written right now.

_Tsk, tsk, tsk, trying to evade your punishment? I recall warning you NOT to lose any parts you might value when you Apparated over to this carriage. Imagine my surprise when your wand appeared __straight__ into my hand a few moments ago. It seems you didn't heed my very valuable warning__,__ too. What am I to do with such an insolent, silly wizard? _

Tom Riddle lowered the note slowly and glowered at the door that should lead directly to her. If she thought he needed a wand to undo a simple Collorportus, she was very much mistaken. His hand grabbed the knob determinately. He concentrated briefly before pushing his magic into it. Triumphantly, he felt the knob absorbing his magic.

Oh, she was going to pay when he got his hands on her_. _

He turned his wandhand's wrist and waved with his hand to the side, expecting the door to slide open.

It didn't.

For a brief moment, he stared at it, confused. Then, a bolt of his own magic jolted from the knob directly into his chest. Pain, so much pain. His hands clutched to his chest; his legs caved, and he landed on his knees in front of the door, huddling over, while trying to catch his breath. The letter, which he had pressed to his chest now, turned hot again.

Promptly, he held it in front of his face.

_Bad idea, Seth. _The words formed almost as fast as he could read them._ You showed me your capabilities at wandless magic. Naturally, I had to take that into consideration when I warded the carriage. It wouldn't do for my pet to escape, now would it? _

Tom let out a growl in frustration. He loosened his tie slightly. Sweet Salazar, it was hot in here. Had she turned up the temperature to torment him?

_Who gave you permission to undress_? The letter stated, burning hot.

Tom smirked at the door, knowing she could see him. With a swirl, he pulled his tie over his head and tossed it away. The letter turned hot again, but he didn't look at it anymore. Instead, he held it up in both hands and ripped it to shreds dramatically, making the pieces dwindle down like snow around him before shrugging his outer robe of his shoulders. Tauntingly slow, he began undoing the buttons on his shirt demonstratively. If she thought she was in charge, he'd just have to show her how very much mistaken she was.

In the other carriage, Hermione placed the quill back in the potion's bottle and lay back in her seat relaxingly. There was no need to write anymore, now that he'd shredded the parchment on his end and inhaled the full dosage of the potion, which turned airborne the second the "ink's" flow got interrupted by a tear. She hadn't known Seth that long, but she knew him well enough to expect this turn of events.

Well, she didn't mind his little stripping act at all_—_he had a nice body to look at, after all_—_and it would turn pretty interesting quickly enough. Smirking deviously, she wondered how long it would take him to figure out he shouldn't have ripped that letter apart. The potion would have worked either way. Only now, it would hit his body much quicker and harder than it would have done if she'd to wait for his skin to absorb it.

"Oh yes, do take off that shirt," Hermione commented, enjoying the view very much.

But she enjoyed it even more when he tried to get to his feet, staggered on one bend leg and leaned back on the floor with one knee quickly. He supported himself against the door, panting heavily. His brow furrowed, crinkling his forehead, causing Hermione to snigger.

_Figured out something is off?_

Her laugh echoed throughout her empty carriage when frustration appeared on his face upon noticing that his pants had turned a bit too tight in a delicate area.

It sure was beneficiary Hogwarts had started earlier. With the train not even half full, she'd had no problem convincing the Head Boy and the four prefects present to leave this side of the train to her, as they patrolled the rest of it. She'd done her share already and was now reaping the benefits of having not procrastinated on her duties. She'd have the rest of the trip to show Seth some proper manners.

Lazily, she drew her wand and flicked it at the door casually. "_Flagrate!_"

On Tom's side, fiery letters formed the taunting sentence_: Excited much?_

Silently, he glared at the message, knowing she'd poisoned him with some potent Lust Potion_—_most likely through that damn letter.

The ink!

He couldn't believe he hadn't considered checking the ink before. It wasn't like he hadn't used the same technique himself. Crap, he was so screwed. If she'd been clever, and unfortunately she was, she would have personalised the blasted potion.

Hermione swished her wand, shifting the flames around. _Speechless? How unusual._

"Bitch."

_Now, now, now, such crude language, _the flames teased. _I__t's Mistress Bitch to you._

Quickly, Tom checked the time. The train would arrive at Hogwarts in, give or take, two hours. He could hold himself in check for two hours. It would be the longest hours of his life, but then, he'd be out of here and that carriage ride to the castle would be the longest ride of Hermione's life. He had, after all, two full hours to think of all the punishments he could bestow upon her for humiliating him. She would come to regret giving Lord Voldemort two full hours to consider his options.

A screeching sound reached his ears and he tumbled to the floor, falling flat on his stomach when the train hit the breaks abruptly. Alarmed, Tom raised his head, pushing himself up slightly by his hands. She had to be kidding. No fucking way!

Red flames were visibly altering in the corner of his eye, and he turned his head to properly read what she wrote.

_Ooooh, we seem to have hit a snag there. _

His face morphed into a sneer. A snag, sure. Like she had nothing to do with said snag.

_Might take a while to fix. __I'd__ better go and console the younger children not to be too frightened. Don't worry, NO ONE will disturb YOU._

"GRANGER!" he yelled furiously and somewhat worrisomely. "Undo this situation at once!"

The flames faded out without forming a new message. Apparently, she'd left for real.

Tom Riddle hit his forehead against the floor several times in frustration. That sadistic, little Mudblood witch was going to make him suffer. There was no way he could get a release without the antidote, and if he was not very much mistaken about the kind of Lust Potion she'd used, and he was certain he wasn't, then that antidote could only be supplied by her.

He groaned, turning on his back while rubbing his aching groin, knowing full well that this was only the beginning. If she was able to stall for time long enough, he'd fuck anything to relieve the tension. She could put Albus Dumbledore in front of him and he'd willingly oblige. The repulsive thought nearly made him vomit and it lessened his wantonness, but he knew it was only a brief reprieve.

Pretty soon, his considerable mind wouldn't be able to focus on anything but the demands of his body. So, he had to find a way out now. Two hours he could have hold himself together, knowing an end would be in sight and keeping his mind focused on the task of getting there. Now the timetable had blurred into the unknown, it would be so much harder to keep his faculties together. His face expressed the admiration he felt for the cleverness of her scheme.

No wonder Potter had always beaten him_—_on his side was that little, devious, rotten, filthy, disgusting, vicious, evil, vengeful, sadistic, loyal, intelligent, cute, beautifully wild, wonderful, sensational ...

Shock visibly painted his expression when he realised all the positive attributes he was granting Hermione Granger with.

Oh no, the stupid potion was beginning to affect his capabilities to think properly already. He was doomed. He banged the back of his head against the floor in sheer desperation.

~-0-~

Meanwhile, Hermione strolled through the train with a small smile on her face. Taking her time to speak to those wandering around about how "strange" it was that the breaks had suddenly blocked for no reason at all and how "inconvenient" that nothing seemed to be able to loosen them.

Well, she knew how to loosen them. But, really ... she wasn't done punishing Seth yet.

She'd been walking around perfectly submissive without any knickers when someone failed to arrive on time. And one could only be the dominant party in the relationship if one stuck to their own terms.

Hermione giggled deviously.

Of course, said event of him arriving too late had been anticipated by her, because well ... even if he had been precisely on time, his Apparition into this train would have been temporarily delayed by her wards anyway. Satisfied her entire power play had worked to her benefit, she nodded courteously to the current Head Boy, Anthony Delaney, in passing.

"Shall I order the others to return to the prefects carriages?" Delaney suggested questioningly and somewhat intimidated by her presence_—_after all, the only time Harry Potter had spoken in public about how he'd prevailed, he had described in utter detail what his friends had done instead of focusing on himself.

"No," Hermione ordered abruptly. "It seems someone found it an entertaining idea to throw a Weasley-enhanced Dungbomb in there. I warded and put an Air-Cleansing Charm over the compartments, but it will take several hours before the air is breathable again."

Delaney's nose wrinkled in disgust. "I shall investigate the matter immediately."

"Don't bother, I already found and dealt with the culprit. He will learn to respect this," she pointed to her Head Girl badge, "thoroughly."

"Good, good," Delaney muttered. "I'll patrol the corridors again."

"Yes, you do that," Hermione replied authoritatively and moved along.

It wasn't much fun bossing morons around, she considered. Really, they made that Head Boy? Delaney was the best they could find? Not one single suspicion on how the train brakes could have failed and whether it might be foul play_—her_ foul play.

She sighed.

Fortunately, she had someone better to boss around. A smirk formed on her features as she wondered how Seth would be coping right about now. She was tempted to send him another message but refrained, knowing the less distractions he had, the more difficult it would be for him.

Hermione let out a soft snigger, taking all the time in the world to move back to the carriage. She'd never had this much fun bossing Harry or Ron around. They were no challenge. They either ignored her bossing about or did as she told. Incredibly boring!

Seth, however, was a whole different ballgame. He, obviously, was under the mistaken impression he didn't much care for someone else to tell him what to do. Seth wanted to be the one in control all the time. Given he was quite a gifted wizard, that made her life a hell of lot more precarious. Yet, she knew from past experience that he enjoyed being dominated. The silly wizard was only fooling himself, or maybe he was testing her? Turning it into a match to see if she was worthy to submit to? Mmm ...

So far their match had been a draw, a stalemate, a pat. She needed to beat him fully to show him who was in charge. Her heartbeat quickened at the thought; it was a very arousing idea to dominate someone like Seth. Only here was where it all could turn risky for her, seeing she had to enter his "cage" in order to "punish" him.

Carefully, she opened the door to the first prefects' carriage and entered_—_her wand drawn just in case. But she needn't worry, Seth was on the floor of the other one. He'd ripped off all his clothes and was moaning in clear agony due to his current predicament. It was obvious his mind had completely shut off already and he was in no condition to cause her any problems whatsoever.

Triumphantly, she stroked her wand. This went far easier than expected_—_a bit disappointing, actually. She'd have to make sure he learned a thing or two about stamina, self-control, and the pleasures of delayed gratification.

Swirling her wand around to lower the wards just for her, she entered the carriage with a haughty expression and sneered demeaningly, "Need an antidote, dear?"

A surprised yelp left her lips when an invisible arm yanked her back against his front and his fingers curled around her wandhand. He waved her wand with their joined hands at the image of his body on the floor, and it dwindled away into a dark shadowy mist that charged towards them, circling them before raining down behind her and showing her where his naked body truly was.

An illusion, she'd fallen for a stupid Fata Morgana Charm. She just wanted to hit herself over the head.

"Now," Tom snarled in her ear, "I believe _you_ need to be taught a lesson in obedience."

He swirled her around and pressed her up against the carriage's door with his clearly aroused body, capturing her hands above her head in a single-handed grip, while his free hand drew her wand slowly over the side of her face. Hermione quirked an eyebrow in amusement.

"Impressive," she said, unabashed, as if he hadn't cornered and caught her. "Your self-control pleases me. You may remove one item of clothing off me."

A deep, dangerous, carnal snarl left his lips as if his basic instincts took over and he was no longer in charge of himself.

"I will remove whatever and how much I desire."

"No, you won't," Hermione replied certainly, her eyes set.

Slowly, he moved his lips to her ear, while her wand got traced over her neck by his hand. "I will have you naked and panting against me in no time, Granger," he breathed against her sensitive skin there, causing little tingles to travel through her body. "Think you're the only one who knows how to work the human body into a state of frenzy?"

"No," she replied honestly, "I am, however, the only one who can cure your condition, so I suggest you heed my valuable warning this time and follow my directives, which I especially simplified so that even your tiny brain capacity can understand it."

She felt his breathing hitch and his body's excited tremble. She could tell how much her words infuriated and yet turned him on at the same time. It was a thin line she walked on, a dangerous, thrilling, thin line. And she decided to push him.

"Choose with care, my pet," she whispered huskily, licking his naked skin in one languorous movement, causing him to shudder in wantonness. "It may be the only item I'll allow you to remove today."

"Blouse," he spoke hoarsely, his lust-filled mind taking over but still recalling he'd demanded of her to not wear any knickers on the train. It was a gamble she'd complied even after he failed to be on time, but somehow he felt she would not disappoint him in the matter.

"Excellent choice," she praised, fully in charge despite that he had her pinned to the door, was armed, and was physically the stronger party of the two. "You may proceed."

He vanished her blouse immediately with a flick of her wand and a sibilant noise left his lips when he saw she wore nothing underneath but a black lace bra. The lace gave him an only mildly obscured visual of her breasts. She smirked when she noted his grip on her wrists tightened, while his gaze stayed fixated there.

_Men._

Like her mother had said, _soooo_ _easy_. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Are you going to keep staring or do something?" she deliberately sneered.

Slowly, he raised his head, pressing his naked body hard against her chest and meeting her eyes with an impassive expression.

_Shucks. Maybe not so easy after all. How on earth __is__ he able to remain this composed with __**that**__ potion running through his veins? _

The question ran through her mind while she stared back, trying hard to maintain her composure underneath his intense, dark gaze as she acknowledged that he had her trapped good, physically. She experienced every line, every curve of his body against hers and he'd left her no room to move even an inch. Something stirred in the core of her being, something that demanded satisfaction and fulfilment of the almost overwhelming yearning that rushed through her.

She had to keep thinking to not lose the upper hand. It was hard. Actually, it was nearly impossible. But she was stuck now, lost in their silent staring match where both parties tried to act oh so unaffected by the situation. Her expression was just as blank as his, but she could feel her heartbeat speeding up; her breathing turned heavier; a drop of sweat trickled down her neck. Hermione blinked before she frowned.

_Is the carriage turning hotter?_

From the corner of her eye, still not giving up on their staring competition, she noticed the delighted smirk that formed on his face and it deepened her frown.

_Not good._

She could practically taste his pleasure as her concern, along with his smirk, grew substantially.

_Why and what is he so happy about?_

The Head Girl was missing something, she knew it. The problem was: She had no idea what she missed. And without any information to go on, she had no idea how to counter whatever it was that changed his demeanour. Hermione held her breath when he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers without cancelling their eye contact. It couldn't even be called a kiss, but still ... she let out a disappointed moan when he withdrew. Her lips tingled and she licked them to moisten the sudden dry sensation in her mouth. Her blood pounded audibly in her ears, while she drowned in the depth of his eyes. To her excitement, he leaned in again. His eyes flickered over her heated face, before he drew his lips passed her cheek to her ear. She shivered in response.

"Close your eyes, Hermione," he ordered barely above a whisper.

She complied, breathless.

"Good girl," he purred.

The vibration against her skin made her shudder and that aching need rose further inside of her, turning up the heat even further.

_Wait a sec.  
_

Her eyes snapped open, alarmed. She was experiencing the effects of the stupid Lust Potion she'd poisoned him with!

Impossible, that was ... impossible.

Suddenly aware of what was happening, her mind registered the magic that exchanged between them at every inch of bare skin that was in direct contact with the other's. That same magic transported her Lust Potion from his body to hers. Her muscles tensed, and she tried to struggle to regain her freedom. But he merely chuckled and tightened his grip on her wrists, while his hips held her lower body stationary.

Hermione groaned in defeat. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

"Finally figured out what's happening?" he breathed tauntingly against her neck, sending a titillating rush over her nerves' endings that lowered the sound of her groan to a rumbling inside her chest. "It took you long enough."

Her frustrated growl made him snigger gleefully.

"So ..." he paused, tilting his head in mock thought, "what shall I do with you, _Hermione_?"

She gritted her teeth in annoyance, while the rest of her body was quickly becoming one throbbing aching need, which was supposed to happen to _him_. She couldn't believe this was happening. This wasn't supposed to be possible. She checked and double-checked the potion's characteristics. You couldn't get infected by sheer contact, let alone have it transported into your system as he had just done to her. She grudgingly remembered that he had told her Potions was his only good subject.

_Liar_.

This obviously took some serious Charms capabilities as well. Ugh. And she'd already witnessed some of his curses and the speed of his casting, so she had no doubt about his DADA grades. Then, she had to take under consideration their last debate on developments in Arithmancy, which proved without any doubt that his skill in that area was way above average as well.

_Potions is my only good subject, _her mind mimicked mockingly. _Can you imagine not being good in Potions and having him as a teacher?_

Snape's pet.

That had to be where he got this "antidote" from. It was nowhere to be found in the authorised Potions' books. As if that stupid Half-blood Prince hadn't caused her enough headaches with his scribbles that made Harry better in Potions than her. All those imbecile Death Eaters spreading their obnoxious Lord's knowledge around to harmless, innocent Hogwarts students like Seth and Harry, causing **her** problems. She grumbled angrily about the unfairness of it all.

But her irritation grew when she suddenly became aware of his body trembling against hers in contained laughter.

"This isn't funny," she hissed, glaring at him flustered.

His amusement at her predicament didn't lessen and he made absolutely no attempt to hide it anymore. His face was set in such a wicked, gleeful expression, it would have made her grow cold to the marrow of her bones had his hand not been stroking the side of her body in a very exciting, pleasurable manner.

"On the contrary, I find _**all**_ _**this**_ very entertaining," he countered casually.

Smiling broadly, he pressed his mouth against hers and she could no longer formulate a sane reply in her mind, because all she could think of was the way his lips moved against hers, how his tongue slid around hers, how he breathed her in and forced her to follow his lead in this all-consuming kissing expedition.

When he finally allowed her to catch her breath and rested his forehead against hers, her face felt so hot it was scaring her tremendously, because she knew her mind would slip out of control next. She had to focus, keep her thoughts away from how his body was moulded against her, how his long, strong fingers kept her wrists wrenched together above her head, how his other hand's fingertips titillated every inch of her skin, and how badly the desire throbbed in the core of her sex. She couldn't lose control that badly. She didn't want to lose control, _**she didn't!**_

"Too bad," he whispered ruthlessly. "I am going to make you."

Her eyes widened in autonomic fear response and her breathing hitched. _He is going to make me?_

A flick of her wand and his slid out of her skirt's waistband on her back, returning to its rightful owner who immediately tossed hers demonstratively over his shoulder. She heard the clattering sounds as it bounced a couple of times before eventually rolling away. She pressed her eyelids together, hard, and took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself.

"Naughty witches like you won't be in need of a wand," he taunted, tracing the lines of her face with his.

Tilting her head back, she gasped as his magic brushed over her skin, sensitising it to an extreme that made her cheeks burn from embarrassment at her wantonness state. She'd even subconsciously pressed her hips against him. Merlin, she wanted ... _needed_ him. Right **now**.

"Well," he smirked briefly at watching her dishevelled state, "not that you seem able to cast anything at the moment." He clicked his tongue and shook his head disapprovingly. Calmly, he brought his lips no more but a hair width away from her ear shelf. "If you want to be the dominant party in this relationship, _Hermione_," he whispered her name languorously, "you still have a couple of things to learn."

His soft chuckle wrapped around her like a nice warm blanket on a cold winter night. If he hadn't held her boxed in against the door, her knees would have caved and she was sure to be crashing down on the floor, for the muscles on her leg had turned completely flaccid at the excellent attention she was receiving.

Merlin, how could any one individual possibly be capable of making her feel this way? His voice alone was enough to make her climax. His scent was intoxicating, and she wanted to rub her whole body against him to keep that smell with her. Forever. And his magic ...

An elongated moan slipped from her lips, exhibiting her longing to its full extent.

His magic was like a drug to her: dark, addictive, thought-consuming and ecstatic. No one person should have this kind of power over another. It was ridiculous, insane, mental, dangerous ... and absolutely the most erotic thing she ever experienced.

"Perhaps ..." he tilted his head and glanced sideways at her face calculatingly, "I should show you how it is to be done?"


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: **Alas, despite our long absence from this fic, we've not miraculously gained ownership of the Potterverse and the tons and tons of money connected to that verse. So, yes, it's still all Rowling's and we get zero, zip, squat from writing this. *runs off to cry in a dark corner*

**A/N: **we want to thank everyone for reading, alerting, faving, and most of all, reviewing: Bellas Decathexis, Ilaaris, two times crazy Serpie trying to think we'll be fooled by anonymous replies that are clearly hers (insert arrogant huff and ;p), LillyAnne, nyxera, Beautiful-Liar13, Vinwin, sesshomari, patie, Ceralyn, the-quiet-girl, RiverRamsden, EasilyAmusedReader, MissImpossible, StarlitBaby, IceAgeSurvivor123, Alrauna, sweet-tang-honney, TheBluePaintedWeirdo, Merih.

LillyAnne: Take your well-earned cookie. You were the only one who got that quote right. And I completely agree with you: One of the best indeed. LOL.

**Warnings: **Again, this fic contains **explicit Adult** material of the **BDSM** kind. If you're **not allowed** to read such contents in your place of residence or are **offended** by it, then please, press the back button. Thank you.  
Now for the codes in this chapter: Spank, BP, Toys, Humil, D/s, Bond, Oral, HJ, HET, violence, language, and there is use of a Lust Potion in play.

xxx

* * *

**The Gold Puppet**

_"Perhaps ..." he tilted his head and glanced sideways at her face calculatingly, "I should show you how it is to be done?"_

**Chapter 19**

His quiet voice nearly made her come undone. The potion's effects were definitely worsening with every passing second as she tried desperately to recall its progress and how to best counter it. There had to be some way out of this sticky situation she'd got herself caught in. She had to stop this transportation from continuing. The only way that could be done was to make sure there was no more direct skin-on-skin contact. She had to push him off of her. However, the moment she tensed her muscles to try it, she was too late. A sudden, overwhelming desire rushed from his body to hers: The signal that every last bit of the potion was now inside her body. She tossed her head back with a groan filled in frustration and need.

Abruptly, he swirled away from her.

With a surprised yelp, she collapsed to the floor on her hands and knees. Their sudden disconnection made her mind scream out in agony. Even the ache from her fall could not stop the despair she felt when his touch left her body. But she bit her lip, hard, in an attempt to keep herself under control. As blood dripped over her chin and neck, the pain somewhat cleared her fogged, lust-filled mind and she raised her head to glare at him furiously.

"Son of a bitch," she hissed, wanting to rip him apart and jump him at the same time.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Granger," he said condescendingly, "such crude language. It's Master Son-of-a-bitch to you."

Hearing her own words reiterated back at her made her narrow her eyes. However, she could also feel the lust she had for him returning at a rapid rate. It was evident by how the core of her sex started to throb uncontrollably and how her nipples started to stiffen simply by staring at his painfully gorgeous face. The way his hair fell on his forehead, taunting her to brush them back and caress his face at the same time ... the way his lips were slightly curved upwards, almost like they were inviting her to nibble and devour them ...

The contrasting feelings made her inhale deeply to suppress the whimper that nearly escaped her throat.

_I am__ so going to kill him ... AFTER I've shagged him._

With a cold, superior expression, he strolled towards her and crouched right in front of her face like a predator waiting to strike. The beauty of his nude body struck her like a lightning bolt and she couldn't do anything but stare at him. Slowly, and almost tauntingly, he extended his hand and curled his fingers around her chin to raise her head back to his face. Their renewed contact finally elicited a moan from her lips and he smirked viciously, morphing his features into something dangerous and lethal. Yet, she didn't care. She wanted him. Her hand reached out to touch him when his voice whirled around her.

"Don't."

Trembling, she was conflicted on what to do. Her hand was nearly there and her entire body screamed for him. She had to touch him. But the look in his eyes, the iciness of his gaze, his entire commanding presence froze her up. Her mind was still clear enough to realise that continuing wouldn't give her what she needed.

Silently, his other hand closed around her extended arm and brought it back to its previous position. The warmth of his hand made her eyes flutter shut and she only reopened them again when he chuckled softly. A combination of viciousness and amusement was written all over his features, letting her know exactly how much he was enjoying their situation.

"Rule number one: You will not move, unless I give you permission, Hermione." His eyes flickered over her current position on all fours in wicked amusement. "This is quite ... _fitting_ with your inherent basic animal nature."

Her eyes flashed at his demeaning comment. Anger rushed through her and mildly hindered her desires. Yet, his thumb then rubbed sensually over her still bleeding lip as he whispered the words, sensitising them further while smearing her blood over her mouth and replacing the anger with something else entirely. Sense and logic were thrown into the far corners of her mind. Reflexively, she took his thumb in her mouth and sucked on it. His other hand flashed to her hair and yanked her head back roughly, causing her to yelp.

"I said, no moving, dearest, or are you deaf as well as ignorant?" he sneered, his breath brushing her neck. "One more infraction and you will find yourself uncomfortably restrained."

His sneering words no longer angered her; she was more focused on their current closeness. She could feel the heat of his naked body radiating against her and she could smell that delicious scent that belonged solely to him. So close ... yet just out of reach. Her body thrummed in wantonness. It ached to be touched, to be held, to be taken by him. _**Now**_.

Hermione launched herself forward, not caring about the hand in her hair or his previous words. Riddle tumbled backwards, landing on his bum with a little, bushy-haired, sex-craved monster on top of him. Her lips caught the curve of his shoulder and she began planting kisses all over his skin, sucking and nibbling. Her nails raked over the length of his body, and he let out a content sigh, enhancing her actions, making her rub her body against his. This was enthralling ... this was heaven.

However, she needed something more. Simply touching him was not enough to satisfy her craving for him. And that craving was driving her mental. She needed him _**right now**_.

Her fingers curled around his member when his wand flashed behind her back. A leather collar closed around her neck, but she was too busy to take notice. Why was his cock still so bloody flaccid? She needed him inside of her.

So she continued touching and kissing him, trying to get him hard, and she got even more frustrated when he just wouldn't cooperate with her. Therefore, she did not pay attention of what he was doing. His wand flashed again, and an invisible leash yanked her off of him brutally, forcing her to her feet. Standing on tiptoes, her hands flew to her throat, trying to get her fingers behind the collar to rip it off. The discomfort she felt was not all that important to her at the moment; her primary concern was to reach him again.

Suddenly, the tension of the leash on her neck disappeared. A second jinx struck her in the stomach, and she doubled over, wrapping her arms around her belly as she crashed to the ground with a painful cry. Riddle was beside her, waving his hand through the air. His fingers closed into a fist and he moved his hand upward harshly, effectively yanking her up and forcing her back to her hands and knees as before.

"Now what did I tell you, my dear?" he said in an almost satisfied tone of voice, as if he'd been expecting this turn of events.

She couldn't reply until the pain in her stomach evaporated and was being replaced by the more maddening ache in the core of her sex. A groan left her lips when she noticed her desire was slowly rising again.

A pleased glint passed through his eyes, too quickly for her to notice it, and his expression was again one of cold impassiveness.

"Answer me, Hermione."

"Not to move," she replied breathlessly, wishing he would just touch her instead of standing there like a moronic statue. She could barely withstand the urge to rub against his legs like a cat. However, she'd a hunch he'd kick her if she did.

"And what did you do, you stupid, worthless slut?" he spat.

Recalling how she'd jumped him, her cheeks burned in embarrassment. Merlin, she should never have used this potion. What had she been thinking? This was dreadful. How on earth had he managed to stay so composed for the amount of time she'd left him alone? It had only been minutes since it entered her body fully and already she couldn't think straight, couldn't see straight beyond her wants and needs and the object of her desire: _him_.

Nevertheless, she knew that if she did not do things his way, he was not going to grant her a release and her suffering would only elongate.

"I am sorry," she whispered, keeping her head low, so her expressions could not be clearly seen by him.

"You're sorry ..." he paused expectantly.

"I'm sorry, Master," she repeated through gritted teeth, her face now completely red.

"I see. So, you're sorry," he replied incredulously, circling her body in slow, carefully controlled steps. "For what exactly?" he added in a sickeningly sweet tone.

_For not fucking your brains out, you imbecil__ic__ sadist. What the hell do you think?_

"For moving," she answered instead, making a face behind her curtain of hair. "Master," she added quickly and somewhat mockingly.

He snorted disparagingly. "I wonder what it is that makes me not believe you, my sweet Head Girl," he mocked, cocking his head. "Perhaps it's your blatant disrespectful tone of voice? Or your complete disinterest in pleasing your superiors as you focus on nothing else but yourself and your pleasure? Or perhaps it's because you're such a bad, **bad** little liar?" he hissed.

His voice wrapped around her body seductively, eliciting a shudder from her, and now, instead of irritation, she felt herself getting wetter and wetter with each and every demeaning word he threw at her. She could not summon enough energy to speak, nor did she trust herself to open her mouth. The last functioning bits of her mind realized that she might very well start moaning—or even worse, start begging for him to take her in any way he wanted instead. So, she kept her mouth shut and nibbled on the insides of her cheeks.

"Naughty tramps need to be disciplined and punished for their disobedience and lies, wouldn't you agree?" he continued matter-of-factly. He paused and eyed her critically, as if he was looking at an unsatisfactory piece of art. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. And didn't I warn you that I would restrain you if you moved? So ..."

He waved his wand above her head. Shackles clasped over her ankles, pulling them so tightly to the floor of the carriage that it placed a huge strain on her muscles. A second wave turned the floor underneath her into some sticky substance, gluing her hands stuck.

"There," he patted her on the head demeaningly. "Now you won't be tempted to be ... foolish as I try to read."

Her mouth dropped open, and for a moment, she thought she'd heard wrong. Did he just say he was going to _read_?

With another whip of his wand, he was properly dressed again and had a massive volume in his hand. Lazily, he sat down and opened it at page one as if she wasn't even there.

He had to be kidding. She was nearly overwhelmed by her desires here and he was in the mood to _read_?

Hermione cursed loudly.

"Rule number two: no talking. Your incessant chattering is incredibly boring."

"My incessant chattering, mine?" she snapped; her jaw fell open at his nerve to call her a chatterbox while he had the tendency to go on, and on, and on about the silliest of details.

"I'd think twice about disturbing me, pet. You won't like what I'll do next and you really do need this time to cool off." He snickered viciously as he dove behind the book with his face.

She wished he'd bash his head against that stupid book. Cool off? He told her to _cool off_? When he knew that it was impossible what with that insane potion was doing to her? Fury flooded her system and his warnings promptly disintegrated into nothingness in her brain.

"You, you, you!" she began, stopping when his head lifted expectantly above his book.

"Yes?" he asked teasingly, pointing his wand at her and shredding the rest of the clothes on her body to pieces.

_Well, that's not really bothering me. Maybe I should ... disturb him for real._

"Ungrateful, absolute moron, stupid, insignificant—"

And then, there was a gagball in her mouth, causing nothing but soft grunts to leave her body and drool ... lots and lots of disgusting drool that ran down her neck over her body, joining the blood that already had dried up there. She tried shaking her head to dislodge the thing and tried spitting it out, but it was bound around her head tightly. Several more colourful words to describe him flew through her mind as she began to struggle to free herself from her captivity to the floor in vain. She only exerted herself dreadfully. Her legs were now hurting and her nostrils flared in an attempt to take in the extra oxygen needed. This was not helping at all. If anything, she had just used up the energy she could have used to slightly push back the effects of the potion. Not that _that_ would have helped a lot, but at least it was something.

She lowered her head between her hands in defeat and grunted in frustration. However, it made her drool leak over her face and she quickly rose back up, not wanting it to drip into her eyes.

Her mind reeled over her options: none.

She couldn't even call out to him anymore. And he enjoyed ignoring her, she could tell by the way he exaggeratedly flipped another page of his book. Her blood pounded vehemently in her nether regions, making her squirm uncomfortably with her hips. Godric, she needed some friction there, desperately. Someone just fuck her. Anyone.

_Flip. _

He'd turned another page.

_Flip, flip, flip ..._

He kept on ignoring her. It was infuriating. She swivelled her head sideways and glared at the object of her frustration.

"Eyes forward, minx," he hissed immediately.

Finally, she had his attention. Success made her heart leap in joy and in turn caused her arousal to heighten another notch. So, she didn't obey his order but kept staring at him, daring him to act.

She didn't have to wait long. He lowered his book with a sigh and calmly placed a page marker between the pages before placing it beside him on the carriage's couch. Then, he met her eyes quietly, his face a blank mask.

Her mind was screaming at him to just fuck her, to bloody well satisfy this maddening craving she was subjected to. She was ready to do anything for it. **Anything.**

When he rose fluently from the couch, her breaths stopped. Her pupils dilated and she froze in anticipation as he glided towards her. Mesmerised by his presence, she eyed him. Never before had she realised how powerful he truly was. His surplus magic flowed around her skin, touching her as if she was tickled by a thousand fingers. It made her squirm in dissatisfaction. Would he take her now and end her suffering?

His long, pale fingers stroked through her hair, eliciting a grunt from her mouth. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy the blissful feelings she got from his caresses. Yes, he was touching her. Triumph. Victory.

But then, she noticed the vicious smirk that crept on his face. Oh no.

"I said, eyes forward, hussy," he hissed, and he roughly turned her head by her hair. "Now since you're obviously too feeble to understand complex orders, I will try to make it as simple as possible for your insignificant, single-functioning braincell by showing you what is expected of you."

He kicked into her armpits, bending her arms at the same time as he pushed her head down. With a flick of his wrists, her elbows also glued to the floor. Then, he grabbed her hips and lifted them up as far as he could.

"You will maintain this position," he said, pulling her head back, and by doing so, bending her spine in a painful arch, "for as long as I deem necessary."

His nails ran over her back, leaving red scratches behind in its wake, while she let out another grunt of pained pleasure through the gagball.

"Any kind of movement will force me to start your countdown anew."

He stroked gently over her raised bottom before slapping it harshly. A shock ran visibly through her, and he clicked with his tongue in disappointment.

"Such little self-control," he whispered sibilantly and smacked her behind again, causing her body to shake. "Such a disobedient, silly girl."

_Smack! _

Every single one of his blows vibrated through her and made her lose her grip in one form or another. Every time that he had something demeaning to say about her lacking abilities to listen and stay immobile made her feel a sense of weakness and embarrassment. Tears streamed down her face from a combination of pain and helplessness.

She tried to the best of her abilities to somehow keep herself in that impossible, aching stance. Still, she moved and he would notice, even if it was just a hair that twitched. Soon, her bottom was blazing red and only then did he stop. She felt utterly humiliated when he fingered her dripping fanny and she couldn't help it but respond to his caress with that potion blazing through her blood.

"So wet you still are, so eager for my cock that you'd take this beating and enjoy it," he hissed, rotating his finger around her walls before withdrawing it and holding it in front of her face. "Clean me up, whore."

She grunted in the gagball, rolling her eyes. _Is he stupid or what?_

"Oh yesssss, I forgot about your insolent tongue," he said in a tone of voice that clearly told her he hadn't forgotten at all.

With a little hand gesture, the ball vanquished into thin air and her ragged gasps filled the carriage, followed by her audibly swallowing her excess saliva. Still shaking, she took his finger in her mouth fully and sucked her juices away. A smirk appeared on his face as he slowly withdrew it from her mouth. His wet finger traced the side of her face gently until his hand grabbed her jaw firmly and his lips caught hers. A content moan formed in her throat as their tongues battled for dominance. She could've continued this kissing forever. Yet, he held her head tightly in place as he moved on and began sucking and nibbling on her lips, removing the bloodstains. His thumb drew over her moist lips and she caught it in desire, mirroring her wants and needs for him with her mouth's actions on his thumb.

"That mouth of yours was made to suck me, wasn't it?" he commented quietly.

She couldn't speak with his thumb in her mouth, so she nodded, keeping her lust-filled eyes on him. Immediately, his hand impacted hard on her bottom again and her face contorted in pain, just swallowing the scream that formed in her throat.

"Silly, silly witch," he said evenly, rising out of his crouched position and unzipping his trousers. "My orders were so simple, so basic. Yet, you continue to move. Since you clearly are unable NOT to move ..." he trailed off, smirking wickedly.

He lowered his trousers and stepped out of them, pushing them to the side with his feet. To her annoyance, she saw that his cock was very much erect now as he sat down on the floor in front of her. Spreading his long legs on either side of her body, he slid down on his elbows and watched her expectantly.

"Make yourself useful, witch."

He didn't have to say twice. Eagerly, Hermione sucked his dick, knowing that the moment his semen was inside of her, the potion would cease to work and her symptoms would be gone, or at least, lessen to the degree she'd have control over. Alas, she forgot that he had said knowledge, too. The second he felt it coming, he withdrew from her mouth abruptly and sprayed it on the floor in front of her with immense satisfaction.

Desperately, she howled and was quieted immediately by a new gagball.

He patted her on the head as he rose to his feet and cleansed and clothed himself with a flick of his wrist.

"Well done, pet," he said, sounding awfully pleased. "Now show me you can obey my commands and perhaps I shall grant you a release, too."

He strolled away and sat down, grabbing his book and opening at the place he'd left it.

_Flip, flip, flip ..._

Hermione felt utterly ridiculous with her bum in the air and her head and back arched to the extreme. Yet, her yearning was so great, so all-consuming and overwhelming that she did what she could. However, she was no athlete by any standards. All her muscles ached and protested to such degree that she couldn't hold it up anymore. Her body was already trembling from the strain, right before she slumped into each other in defeat.

"Back in position, wench," Riddle barked coldly from behind his book.

Biting back tears, she clenched her eyes together and somehow managed to push herself up. After hearing several more pages flip, he suddenly planted the book on the seat next to his and rose. Hermione didn't move her head to check where he was heading; she kept looking straight ahead. His footsteps halted behind her and her heart picked up an even faster pace.

However, she didn't dare get her hopes up anymore. She needed him so badly that she figured she would die of a heart attack if he wouldn't grant her a climax soon. Her entire body was flushed and perspiring, driven by an all-consuming longing that she couldn't relieve herself.

Suddenly, the shackles around her ankles sprung loose. She could finally move her legs again. But not knowing what was expected of her, she kept her previous position, worried he'd restrain her again if she took any initiative.

"Finally, you understand how to be submissive," he hissed, pleased. "On your feet. Legs spread."

His hands grabbed her hips and pulled her bottom higher up in the air. Her face contorted briefly in pain from the sudden, new position she was basically thrown in, but knowing that he was finally going to fill her aching emptiness soon made up for that. He kicked her legs apart and moved between them rapidly, rubbing his eager cock against the inside of her thigh. The sensation pushed away any thoughts of discomfort or pain, and a sound that was a mixture of a moan and a groan rushed past the gagball. With another flick of his wrist, the gagball disappeared, and then, he entered her slowly, far too slowly for her liking. She wanted the friction. She _needed_ the friction. Hadn't she been submissive enough? Why the hell wasn't he giving her what she wanted?

She had the urge to buck herself against him, but she knew that he would immediately withdraw from her if she were to move without his command.

"Do you understand now, Granger, who's the one in control?" he asked, still not increasing his speed.

"Yes, Master," she whispered, her face scrunched up as if she were in pain. Beads of sweat ran down her face and neck, mixing with the drool and blood on her.

"Will you attempt to defy me again, my little slut?"

"No, Master." _Not before the stupid potion runs its course. __After that ... we'll see._

"Good," he chuckled softly before his voice took on a dark tone, "because what just happened is just a small indication of what I can and will do to you if you're naughty again. Do we understand one another, witch?"

"Yes, Master." _Just fuck me already and stop the pointless chatting! What's with you and your non-stop talking?_

"Excellent," he hissed.

The syllables of the word wrapped around her body, pushing her wantonness to new heights, and she nearly shouted in glee when he started thrusting furiously inside her, almost as if he were trying to rip her apart. What should have been painful drew long, lustful moans from her, and she was so, so close to her climax.

Suddenly, he released her from the spell, allowing her arms to move. The position she was in and the ache that had developed in her limbs caused her to crash down to the floor on her face. She was definitely going to get bruises later on, but she just did not care right now as long as he continued to give her that delicious, hard pounding.

"You are mine, Hermione," he said quietly, panting as he penetrated deeply into her.

"Y-yes, Master," she replied, slightly in a daze from the wonderful sensations that were surging through her body.

"Forever."

"Yessss!" she shrieked as he pushed both of them over the edge.

The moment he came inside her, she could feel the effects of the potion break. They slumped down on the floor with him on top of her, both of their desires thoroughly sated. He rolled over to the side and pulled her closer to him. Lazily, he traced lines up and down her body, causing a ticklish feeling to develop in the wake of his fingers. Taking in the mess they had caused in the carriage, she laughed softly before she turned around and looked at him. He gave her a faint smile before lowering his eyes, allowing it to devour her naked body before his arms wrapped around her protectively and his lips met hers.

A contented smile appeared on her face, and snuggling closer to him, she knew that she was going to miss him awfully while she was at Hogwarts.

xXx

Thoughtfully, Lord Voldemort looked around the crowded chamber. His glamoured snakelike face with its distinct red, slit-for-pupils eyes penetrated each and every one of them, causing those his attention fell on to drop to their knees and grovel. He'd seen no need to share his new looks with all his followers. Those privileged to that knowledge were carefully chosen by him, and their numbers weren't high, since his most trusted and useful servants had died in the final battle, leaving him with this riffraff—morons who'd escaped the attention of the Ministry by either being above approach or just too feeble to be considered as a Death Eater. Their low ranking in his organisation had been their salvation from prosecution. But he'd shape them into useful weapons, as he'd done before with the others. It was just a matter of careful conditioning, manipulation, and training.

"Friends," he said quietly, a sickeningly sweet smile drawn on his lips as he strolled amongst them. "Welcome. It's been too long since we last met."

_Time for the games to begin._

A couple of hours and many training duels later, the riffraff exited the chamber, tired and perspiring heavily, while chatting amongst each other in excitement and fulfillment. Satisfied, Lord Voldemort watched them go. He'd seen several promising candidates in line to replace their fallen comrades.

With Hermione away at Hogwarts, he'd have the freedom to move and re-establish his forces for the next year without much interference from her. By the time she'd gain her N.E.W.T.s, he'd be well underway to regain his rightful position as leader of the Wizarding World. And this time around, he planned to use everyone at his disposal, even those Death Eaters he had told to stay low in the Muggle world.

No more mistakes, no more mercy.

He'd take over the world as a whole at once. Starting just in Britain had been a mistake of gigantic proportions. It gave his opponents places to flee to. Fortunately, it had also kept his foreign supporters out of prison since they'd not compromised themselves as being on his side yet. That would all change next year.

A vicious expression crawled over his snakelike features, his red eyes sparkling maliciously.

He'd a whole year to secretly whack all those who'd opposed him. It had to be done carefully though. He couldn't risk attracting attention to the oddity of all his former enemies dropping dead one by one. But he'd make damn sure that when Lord Voldemort rose to power again, they wouldn't be around to stop him anymore. Their fates were sealed the moment they decided to raise wands against him or used a despicable sword of a silly Founder to kill his pet.

Yessss, he'd already contacted his American followers to assist him with the Longbottoms' demise. They'd set up a fake clinic, mirroring Healer Lewis's, and would arrive tomorrow to take the patients and their dear family members with them. Once they were indoors of that facility, he'd make sure they'd never walk out alive **after** he'd shown that obnoxious, insipid snake-killer the true meaning of pain.

Speaking of obnoxious individuals, he still had a redhead to take "care" of. And he knew just what to do with her.

"Arcadicus Rencher," he called out to one of the men hanging around in the back of the chamber, recalling what he'd made that man do in his created, false memory for Potty with sadistic pleasure. "A word."

xXx


End file.
